This is the year that I write more.  Journaling and stories, telling a piece of my life.

This is the year I read more.

This is the year I will do more, and enjoy each moment as it occurs, and not wish for time past.  I’ll become the person in my dreams, spontaneous and delightful, surrounded by mysteries to solve, love to be had and doorways to walk through.

This is the year I will learn to knit socks.

This is the year I’ll be 45, an age I never dreamed about.  This is the year I’ll start on my second half, making a juicy and delicious life, with no regrets, no fear.

This is the year that will begin a new decade for me, and I’m excited and in wonder of all it will hold for me.

It is a succulent, but that's all I know. Any ideas?

I’ve started on Cymbalta, hoping that it will do three things: help with anxiety, weight loss and my ability to quit smoking.

I think my crazy is directly related to The Change.  Fuck you, Menopause.  I’m not pausing for anything.

When I called the fitness center and the front desk girl said that she hadn’t seen either girl, I just knew that D had convinced Zoe to go off with her to party, which is exactly something I would have done at her age.  My parents were so controlling and did not approve of any type of “fun”, that it became a habit to tell them I was going to see a movie and then go off to the gay bar for dancing and mischief.  So of course I think that Zoe is going to do the same thing, because that’s human nature, right?  No, that was my nature, when brought up by people who were afraid of the wind blowing.  I stressed to Zoe that while I may not always approve of her choices, I would always be available to come and get her, if she needs me.  No judgment if it’s underage drinking, smoking dope, whatever, I’m there.  Of course I don’t want her to ever do any of those things, and I’m not going to encourage her, but at the same time, I know I drove stoned more than once because I knew if I called home to tell them I was toasted, I would have been in huge trouble.  It was simpler, in my mind, to risk death and dismemberment.

I’m over the worst of the stress of that night, and I got an eight-hour block of sleep last night that really helped.  Today Zoe is off with J. (Brent’s daughter) to see AFI in Charlotte.  They left the house before 8 a.m. so they could stand for 12 hours to make certain they get in and get good seats.  “Rabid AFI fans, Mama.”  Okay, that’s weird.  I trust J. completely and so it’s not an issue for me, today.

I found out two days ago that Ani DiFranco was playing in Charlotte, last night.  No time for me to figure out who I could ask to go with me.  I would have taken Zoe, but because of her thing tonight I knew she wouldn’t be able to do it.  I’m feeling a little bit sorry for myself and a little bit sad that I couldn’t do something that I thought would be fun because I’m single.  Oh, I could have gone by myself, but that would have been too stressful and weird for me.  I need a companion for things like that.  I’ve been able to go out to dinner by myself, go to a movie by myself, go shopping, drive 12 hours, a bunch of other things, but a concert?  A musical or play?  I want company.  I don’t think there is anything wrong with that, except I miss out on some cool stuff.

I also have the same mindset when it comes to stuff around the house.  I’m good with cleaning, sweeping, dusting and all that jazz, but picking up and  organizing?  I want someone to do it with me, and most of the time when I want to work on the house, the kids are gone or involved in something.  And it’s the same with outside work, I want help, company and companionship when I rake the leaves or clean up yard trash.  Well, actually I want to bark out commands and have someone follow my orders.  “Rake here!”  “Pick up sticks there!”  “Scoop poop everywhere!”  Doing it on my own is so much less fun.

I want to clean out the garage today and neither kid is available to help.  I suppose I could get all six loads of my laundry done, spend some time reading and then shop and leave the outside for another weekend.  The problem is all my weekends fill up so fast and I feel like I have such a small window to get things done, before the heat and humidity descend upon us.   Thinking about what I want to do,  I’ve only been able to do is drink coffee, smoke and sweep the floors.  Oh, and load up the dishwasher, but I don’t count that because there are always dishes, always kitchen stuff to deal with.  The never-ending chore, kind of like cat boxes.  I’ll scoop and add litter and there’s a cat, waiting to befoul the whole thing moments after I’m done. No sense of accomplishment there.  I thought after cup of joe number 4 I’d been able to throw on some scruffy clothes and head outside.  Nope.  Let’s see what happens after cup number 5.  Oh, I know, massive urination.

I could also spend a couple hours shifting through music and CD’s, as well as organizing the bookcase and of dusting the entire house, but god, that’s so not fun.  At least with the garage cleaning I could be outside playing with dogs, or, rather, yelling at them to get out of my way, I’m sweeping here!  That and chasing mice, loads of fun.

Hey, I’ve successfully wasted forty minutes!  Go me!

Zoe is going to the fitness center with a friend three evenings a week.  I thought I told her to contact me by 8:30 for her ride home.  Her friend can’t drive after 9 p.m. and we meet halfway between home and the fitness center, so D doesn’t risk being out past curfew.   So at 8:35 I sent her a text message and I started calling her at 8:39.  Twelve unanswered phone calls later, I’m in my car racing to her friend’s house.  Oh, I forgot that before that, I called the fitness center and the girl at the desk said, “No, she hasn’t signed in, and I haven’t seen her.”

I got to her friend’s house and they tried to call D’s cell.  No answer.  I’m shaking and ready to barf in their bushes.  Then her step-father comes down, phone in hand, “They are at the center, in the sauna.”

Zoe neglected to tell me that D’s mom works at the center.  And the girls had taken a late class, then went into the sauna, never checking the time or thinking to give me a buzz to let me know they were going to be late.

Inconsiderate.  Frightening.  God, no words are available to describe how absolutely terrified I was, how certain I was that something horrible had happened.  These words seem trite, incapable of truly expressing the horror I experienced for 30 minutes.  And then I think of other mothers who didn’t find out that their daughter was safe, she’s where she said she’d be, she just didn’t think to send a text message, and my heart goes from my throat to my bowels and I’m certain I’m going to throw up, over and over.

Zoe couldn’t understand why I was so upset, until she learned that I was told she had not been seen at the center.  And then it was like a light bulb snapped on and she saw, for one moment, just how justified I was to be so upset.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”  And in my mind, I’m so grateful that I only had to be upset for a little bit, that I didn’t have to wrap my head around a reality so terrifying and paralyzing that I can’t even begin to articulate.

My heart is still pounding, tachycardic.  My skin feels hypersensitive and my stomach is clenched.  She’s in bed now, but I’m certain that sleep will be thin and elusive for me tonight.

Septic tank drama continued until 2 weeks ago when I called the company I had called first, (but decided against because all they could tell me was “sometime next week” and the other company told me “tomorrow”), and they found the problem in about 5 minutes.  Roots were growing in the old crock pipe and plugging things up.  They replaced the pipe and lo and behold, the toilets flush better than they have the entire time we have lived here.  Fuckers that pumped out the tank the first time couldn’t even take the time to notice the tree roots, causing me a month of angst and torment, slow running toilets and strange gurgling sounds from the drains.  It’s resolved, but I want vengeance.  Someone suggested I report them to the BBB, and I might.  Or not.  Lots of energy to be a bitch.

I had my Vit D level checked and it was 13.  Normal is 30-50, with some studies suggesting even higher levels.  I started on the mega dose of Vit D and I’m noticing that I can get away with just under 7 hours of sleep.  And I’ve lost 4# since last month, without doing much of anything different.  I had Zoe tested, her level was 17.  She has started on the mega dose, as well as some iron.  I’ve been popping supplements of all kinds the last month or so, Fish Oil, calcium, multi-vitamins, just about anything I can get my hands on.  Now if I could just take them every day, instead of when I’m in the mood.  Non-compliance, thy name is V.

Kids are really trying me.  Zoe is off doing things with friends, growing up, looking forward to graduation.  The nerve.  She was just a toddler and now she’s writing papers and doing projects for her college class and talking about living on her own.  I’d shed a tear, but really I am kind of excited for her, this growing up thing.  I hope I can give her the freedom she needs to make mistakes, but still be safe.  And Tristan.  He’s just so moody.  He spit out a string of profanity at me a few weeks ago and I told him under no uncertain terms was he to ever talk to me that way.  His mouth has calmed down, and he’s willing to do the chores I ask him, but no intiative on his part, and he’s not willing to socialize and be friendly.  Saddens me.

Financially, I’m not fuckered as badly I was last month.  Brent gave me a bit of money to pull myself up by the bootstraps, I opened an account at a different bank, opened an account for Zoe, as well as 2 savings accounts.  I am using virtual envelopes for expenses, and I hope to install Quicken this weekend, and maybe grow into an adult with the finances.  Good googley moogley.

I’m burning Nag Champa incense and feeling fine.  Groovy, even.

I went to a play party this past weekend, but I didn’t buy anything.  I have a difficult time justifying something that I can’t share with a partner.  I’m good in the taking care of bidness department, but buying a new toy without someone to share is kind of depressing.

My tongue itches and I want to eat olives.  And herring.  And cheese.

Spring is almost here. I wonder when I’ll be able to clean up the yard?

I don’t like this person, this gossip who will repeat everything to anyone.  I don’t like that I take a tidbit of information, chew on it until it is macerated and mushy, then spit it out, feeding the others who are just as disgruntled and dissatisfied as I am.  I don’t like that I try to push others into action with hurtful words.  But the longer this goes on, the more intense the compulsion is to stir people into action, and the only result is I’m unhappy, irritated and saying shit that I don’t really mean.

I’ve changed teams, back and forth, depending on how I’m treated.  If someone I trust betrays me, I strike out.  If that person later softens their treatment of me, I flip back to neutrality toward them.  If later they betray me again, I become vindictive with my words and I treat them without respect.  It’s becoming a pattern that I want to break.  I don’t like this person I’ve evolved into, I don’t like being this bitch on wheels with nothing nice to say.

Biting my tongue is never easy.  In an environment where so many people are unhappy and irritable, it would behoove me to clamp down and keep my mouth shut, especially since it has been proven that nothing will come from my words, other than more discontent.

I had very high hopes for this job, this office.  My disappointment feeds into feelings of betrayal and sadness, and I become too focused on what I wanted this job to be, and lose sight of what it really is.  Expectations of other people, particularly when they are unreasonable, always have the same ending, and I wonder why if I know better, I can’t do better.

Later, after I woke up, Zoe was patiently waiting for Brent to call her to take her driving.  She sent him text messages and he didn’t reply, and for one crazy moment I was stricken with the thought that he had a massive and deadly heart attack and the dream I was my last contact with him, a message that he still has the man inside of him that charmed me so many years ago.  I judge him very harshly for who he has become and I forget that for about ten months, he was the world to me.  As it turned out, he’s alive and well, just hadn’t received her text messages because he was working and cell coverage is iffy at best in his building.

Later in the dream, I was on a bus in San Francisco with my sister and she was smoking.  A stranger asked for a hit off her cigarette, and my sister complied, which is totally not like her.  I watched in amazement as the stranger smoked her cigarette and then Avery asked for a swig off the stranger’s pop can.  I was mortified. BACKWASH, AVERY!  BACKWASH!

Avery actually smokes those skinny little Virginia Slim cigarettes that are like sucking air.  I’ve tried them before and made that squealing, sucking noise on the inhale.  And Avery wouldn’t give a stranger a new cigarette, let alone a hit off a lit one.  Crazy stuff.

Last night, I dreamed I was on vacation with a group of people, men and women.  I’ve always wanted to have a romantic encounter while on vacation, but so far, that’s never happened to me.  Two men were interested  in me and my thought was, “Yes, finally.”  That’s what sticks with me the most, as well as  hand holding with the man who was most intent upon winning my affection.

Dreams mean so much to me, but I waffle between knowing that the images and scenarios are random and chaotic, and wanting them to give insight into my current state of affairs.

January is passing without much of an impact this year, I know that traveling to Florida to spend time with my sister had a positive influence on the month.  Just a few days with her, not doing much of anything, but visiting, sharing, talking, laughing, really helped my frame of mind.  Driving for all that time was a challenge to keep myself motivated and focused, and I’m glad that I was able to make the trip without stopping for the night.  However, now that I’ve done it, the next time I think I’ll plan on making the trip in two legs.  One because it is so freaking boring driving for twelve hours, and two because I didn’t see much of Georgia or Florida, I was in such a hurry to just knock down the miles.

The long drive also triggered a bout of cellulitis in the leg that I injured when I fell on Christmas eve.  Ten days of antibiotics and elevating it seems to have cleared up the infection, but I’m still swelling at the end of the day, and I know that while the infection is gone, the tissue is still damaged, healing, and the swelling may take another month or so to resolve.  Next time I have cellulitis (like I’m planning on it.  GOD.) I will make certain I take off five or ten days to get it back to normal.  Co-dependency reared its ugly head because of office staffing issues and I went back to work much too soon because I didn’t want to contribute to the short staffing problem.  I need to kick myself in the butt when I feel that surge of  “Oh, they can’t do it without me,” because in the end, I never get commended for not taking time off, I only become bitter and depressed.

Kong Kong has been gone for twelve years, and while there is a part of me that can remember those last few days of his life in vivid detail, there are other pieces of me that recognizes the passing of time and the healing that is happening, since I’m letting it.  Struggling to hold on to the pain of losing him is damaging to me. I want to not be saddened each time I remember him, and I want the time between Christmas and his death on January 10 to flow without me falling to pieces on January 11. This year, while I fell to pieces physically, emotionally I didn’t disappear and that also makes me feel like I’ve passed a milestone of some sort.

I’m going to stop smoking this year, but I don’t want to talk too much about it because it’s so frightening and so intimidating.  Erika is going to help me, long distance.  Her offer of help has helped me see that I don’t have to struggle though this alone, which feels like a gift.  I’ve quit before, but it’s never stuck, and I need to cross over a bridge of some sort to get to the other side of smoking.  I don’t know what that bridge is, and hearing other people who have quit say that they still want to smoke is discouraging to me.  I want to lose the need completely, and not become a non-smoking asshole who can’t tolerate the smell of it, but to return to the place I was when I was 12 and had no desire to smoke.  Once I put the first one in my mouth at age 13 I’ve always had a craving for cigarettes.  The years between 13 and 18, when I really started smoking, were a time of figuring out when I could sneak a cigarette in, before school, after school, before bed.  Stealing a pack of cigarettes from my dad and making them last for a week, sneaking butts out of the ashtray and burning my lips on the two hits I’d get from it before I started to burn the filter.  Lots of memories of smoking coming to me now, but I don’t want to share them.  Sometimes I still get the “I’m so cool” feeling when I light up, but that comes less and less lately, and I just see myself as a middle-aged woman who hasn’t risen above the crutch of smoking. Emotions are triggered when I don’t smoke, and the influx makes me feel weak and vulnerable.    I don’t want to feel those things, but I know that I need to work through them to get to the other side of the bridge.  And the troll that’s resides under the bridge is a mean and deceitful bastard.  Maybe I need to punch him in the nose and then run like hell.

I grew up believing that I was lazy.  Both parents told me time and time again that I was lazy and unmotivated.  As an adult, I’ve fought against this negative belief, working very hard to keep house, work full-time and still have a social life.  Instead of believing that I’m lazy, I know that I have a preference to stay at home and utilize the entertainment I have available to me here, stuff that I pay for every month.  I realize that keeping house with 8 dogs and 4 cats is an ongoing challenge and even with the kids helping, it’s still something that has to be addressed every single day.  One day of looking past the puffs of animal hair on the floor means double the work tomorrow.  And working, well, once I get there, I pretty much work until I’m done, doing whatever I need to do, regardless of how I feel about it, or what I want to do.  I’m not lazy.

I spent years working very hard at staying insane and rehashing the past hurts from my life to keep that feeling of regret and sadness alive and well in me.  I’ve worked just as hard to release those feelings and become proactive in my life to live a life of grace and forgiveness.  I take care of my emotional health and well-being.  I’m not lazy, I do the work that I need to do in order to have a rich and full life.

So why can’t I fold and put away the clothing that is piled up on my chaise lounge, and why is it such a huge hairy deal to load the car up with Goodwill donations?