Why I Started This Blog

I started this blog for all the wrong reasons. I started this blog because of a man. Nothing against men, I love men with all their muscles and fur and smells...men are great. As is the man that I am referring to. He is a great man, better than most. Charm, charisma, wise beyond his years. I started this blog as a means to stay connected with him. He was once a very big part of my and my daughter's lives. We were family once (and I feel our life forces will always be interwined) but young hearts and bad decisions tore us apart. I have been apologizing to this man (or the drunk beside me at the bar or screaming it to the sky or whoever would listen to my tale of woe) for years but no more. I realize now it's not the memories but my own guilt that was forcing me to hold on to this misery. When I take away guilt from the equation I start to see the truth of the matter. The truth is shit happens and people suck. Hearts will lie to you more often than not and the voice of reason is hard to hear when the party's raging. I was a kid and I fucked up and I forgive myself.                Moving on................
While dealing with the latest drama of the current co-inhabitor I started to realize just exactly how much of my life I had lost trying to make or keep a man happy or trying to endear myself to the opposite sex for any kind of validation of my attractiveness. It disgusted me. And then I realized that my daughter was exhibiting those same "but he needs me" tendancies with no thought to her own needs.....and I threw up.  I don't want her to hold back who she truly is because the guy she fell in love with doesn't "get" her. I don't want her to miss out on some grand adventure because she was too busy trying to fit into the mold of someone else's expectations. It was honestly the first time I had ever felt like a bad mother. I was her role model and all she ever saw me do was try and please people and walk on eggshells to keep the peace and give with no limit. Some say that all those things are signs of a good person. Bullshit. Those are characteristic of a coward. A woman so afraid to be without a man that she would let her daughter witness her take a guy back after cheating on and stealing from and lying to her numerous times. I let her see that having a man in your life was more important than the role he played in it. This is my biggest regret. I only hope she has the smarts that I didn't and doesn't waste what I did.
My daughter is now technically an adult. She has big plans and dreams(all involving her boyfriend...sigh) and I realized that the time I had secretly dreamed of for years was finally here. 35 years old, my only child is grown and going away to college and the sky's the limit...right? Instantly my old friend fear came creeping in. I have a boyfriend. Things are not good. Things in fact are probably a lot worse than he realizes. I am pretty sure I want to be on my own, in fact I kind of crave it in a way. Still, I'm afraid. I'm afraid to tell him, not because of his reaction or anything but because when I tell him it will exist in the world and not just in the safe confines of my mind. It will be a change and I absolutely hate change. I fear that I will be weak and give in to shallow emotions like lonliness and allow myself to be talked out of going through with it. I fear I won't make it on my own. I can't afford to be afraid anymore. My chances to live the life I want to live get fewer and farther between with each passing year. I've already wasted so many.
I am going to start writing in this blog again. Not because I'm trying to make some jilted ex-lover think about me or to complain about my shitty existence but because I love to write. I have this bad habit of getting an idea and furiously writing a page or two until I draw a blank and eventually abandon it all together. It's laziness and petty distractions and I will not allow this to continue. Mark my words, a change is a'comin. It's my turn now.

"If Only"

I apologize, to you, whoever you may be, if I've ever crossed your path in a way much like a black cat might lay an invisible, phantasmic trap between you and your destination. If my ability to open my mouth has ever alienated or offended you, or my inability to open it when I should have has had similar affects, I am sorry. I don't know why I do the things I do
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I'd like to say I get it from my mother but sometimes, if not for a remarkable resemblance and an uncanny way of constantly saying the same thing at exactly the same time, I'd swear I was adopted. That's not entirely true. I see a lot of me in her...and a little of her in me too...I guess. I know there were times when I could not understand why she just couldn't trust me to be the the responsible, careful young adult that I was supposed to be. I know now it was not because she was trying to "keep me down." She just knew from experience that in the heat of a moment in a parked car, that "responsible", careful young adult turns into an easily excited, horny teenager so hungry for knowlegde, however forbidden it might be, that dirty diapers and foodstamps are the farthest thing from your mind, or that icy roads do not discriminate based on age or experience of the driver. I also know that there were times when she has cried; sometimes because of me but often for me. For all the chances I didn't take to make our relationship stronger, I apologize. I will not take those opportunities for granted in the future.

Maybe my father passed along this knack of finding oneself in confusing and chaotic situations, as well as a predisposition for cancer and a grand total of around three thousand bucks, handed out over a period of thirteen years of awkward birthday hugs and christmas gift certificates. I wish I knew. There are only a handful of times that I spent actual quality time with him, none lasting more than half a day of a three day stay at my granparents house or the occasional day trip to an amusement park or the one and only time he ever took me to the movies. I was eleven and the movie was Pet Sematary and it scared the shit out of me but I loved every minute of it. Thinking back now, it could have been any movie. I am absolutely positive that my flair for attracting impossible relationships comes directly from him. He was married once, an occasion for which I never got an invite, but it only lasted a few years. There were quite a few ex-girlfriends at his funeral, some the mothers of my half-siblings (one of whom I've never met, but would like to), and some who weeped so profoundly that it made their husbands uncomfortable. I'm sure he was a good man at heart and I know his heart touched many a life, I only wish one of those lives could have been mine. For having never heard you say you loved me, I am sorry.

I can only hope that all my flaws, inherited and self constructed, stand to serve a purpose. When my daughter sees me crying because bills need paid and there's no money, I hope she remembers our struggles as she prepares for her future and strives to never be caught in the vicious cycles that her mother could never quite escape. When she realizes that I have been sleeping on the couch for weeks, I hope it reminds her to never settle for someone who makes her feel less than she is. She deserves to be happy, if only briefly, every day of her life. I see more of me in her than either one of us would like to admit and I'm proud to have had her aquire a few of my better characteristics, like my artistic nature and my aversion to authority, but for any of the other crap that might have slipped through, I plead for your forgiveness and ask that you keep in mind that one day, you too will see a part of your soul behind someone else's beautiful brown eyes.

Of all the wisdom I've gained on my journey, the most important thing I've learned, albeit the hard way, is to not live your life with regret. Swallow your pride and apologize, even when you know you are right. Don't hold grudges. They are tremendously heavy and will only leave you with isolation and back pain. And last, but not least, never be afraid to take the first step, even if the destination is unknown and never, ever utter the words "if only".

"I Need a Miracle...Everyday!"

The winter solstice is upon us, promising longer days and the welcoming rebirth that is spring in the not too distant future. Even though the presents, all still wrapped, and the champagne bottles, bubbling with the anticipation of midnight and shouts of jubilation, still hold their corks firmly in place, I can't help but wishing to myself, again and again, that it was April already. April is when the first festival of the year takes place and where my mind, body and soul finally wakes up and shakes this miserable, dreary, going nowhere feeling from my aching bones. I once again have something to look forward to, and right now in my life, that, is a precious commodity. Every time I see that old rusty metal fire ring sitting in my yard, slightly off-kilter and covered in early morning frost, I swear that if I get close enough to it I can feel the warmth of the campfire that will soon occupy its hollow cavity and the warmth of my fellow hippie brethren and the stories and laughs that we will share surrounded by the light of the fire's glow.

Christmas baking was done this year, as most every year, with the sounds of the Grateful Dead playing in the background. Some people might opt for Bing or Burl or even Elvis for this holiday tradition, but I'll take Jerry and Bob over Rudolph and Frosty every time. As "Shakedown Street" gets my feet a'movin, I'm transported to a place of hula hoops, lawn chairs and beautiful, flailing tie-dye. I spot a woman dancing and am transfixed. She is gorgeous. Tall, slim and all of maybe twenty six years old. She kicks up small clouds of dust as her bare feet thump out a rhythm that has consumed her. Her elegantly long arms trace invisible patterns around her and her wild brown hair caresses her bare, bronze shoulders with every gyration. I am drawn to her because I want nothing more in this world than to be her. To scatter my inhibitions to the wind and just be...be...well, just be. The grace she possesses is not masking insecurities or self-consciousness. She is perfect in her moment of spinning bliss and she pays no mind to anyone or anything around her. She is being.

I don't know if this is going to be my last year on earth. If those wacky Mayans were right we might all be doomed 364 days from now. Frankly, I'm sick of worrying about it every time I turn on the History channel. I need a festival to take my mind off of inevitable calamity and sorrow. I need late night music and early morning frisbee. I need glow sticks and dread locks. I need tent neighbors and festy friends. And most of all I need that campfire. You don't think about things like bills, schedules, or impending doom when your knees and face are toasty warm. You think about the faces looking back at you from across the flickering circle of light and the way the stars seem to dance in the sky from on top of a mountain. You worry, not about debt or despair, but whether or not you'll have enough beer to last till Sunday or if those people you met and had a good time with last year will show up this year and find you among the masses. It's a different reality, a better reality where peace and love and brotherhood abound. For four, miraculous days you are reborn and hopes and dreams creep back into your weary soul.

While everyone else is watching Ralphie shoot his eye out or standing in line with the rest of the last-minute zombies, I will be dusting off the hackey sack and making tie-dyes. With visions of fire dancers twirling in my head I am assured by the fact that New Years means more than that twelve o'clock kiss and a new beginning, it also means there are only four more months 'til April. It can't get here fast enough. Merry Christmas and Happy Hooping!

Bah.......

I resent the christmas tree. I resent the way the very smell of the thing can transport me back to a time when my world was small and my family close and my biggest fear was if I'd get the New Kids on the Block poster like my best friend Kris had on her wall. It's stupid twinkling lights beckoning memories of me my sisters on christmas eve opening the pajamas we were allowed to open every Christmas Eve and even though we knew they were pajamas we were excited none the less because that very act was only the opening ceremony to the magicl festivities that continued with us laying in our beds until the anticipation of it all exhausted us and with one ear cocked to the ceiling in case the sound of hooves was just loud enough to rouse us we drifted off to sleep. Our presents were never "extravagant" but our parents did all they could to make sure we were never dissappointed. A feat, which I have come to learn in my later years, is not always as easy as I once thought. All that tree represents to me now is worry, and sorrow and empty wishes. I worry about money or my lack there of. Babies grow, and the barbies and polly pockets are replaced with Ipads and smartphones. Unfortunately, full-time jobs are also replaced with part-time paychecks. I fear the onslaught of Christmas dinner. Making nice with replacements who just don't quite seem to fit in our family the way the originals did. Awkward conversation where laughter and love once resided. Empty seats that once were warmed by loved ones now gone. What happened to those feelings? It didn't happen all at once. Every year of gaining burden and less prosperity moved ever closer until one day there was no excitement at all. Now it's just a tree. A horrendous , messy thing of amusement for my cat. The dog drinks the water out of it faster than I can put it in and there are no presents under it to deter his slobbery slurping. Yet at night, as I'm preparing to head off to bed and the last thing I turn off is the tree lights, their warm glow seems to soften the shadows in my home as well as my heart and I have a sense of those old feelings somewhere deep inside. They don't bubble to the top but just knowing they still live inside of me is enough. It's enough to let me know that one day my daughter will never have to feel the way I do about Christmas right now...and maybe neither will I.