Infighting, Gin-Texting

My id has a binge mentality — food, alcohol, Netflix — the more the merrier.  I could moderate, but, I can’t ever think of a good reason to, so I just end up doing it.

Ego

My super-ego, on the other hand, keeps a balanced checkbook.  Has a budget.  A list of alternative activities to binge eating and/or drinking — take a shower, walk my cat, learn a language.  She believes that one day…maybe even tomorrow…she will convince the id and the ego to take her well-researched-reasonable-practical-rational baby steps.  And she also believes she can convince the other two to take the steps over and over again into oblivion.  The id and the ego think she’s a super naggy constipated bore.

She is delusional, and my id and ego want to throw their beer cans at her.

My ego…I don’t know.  I never seem to be the same person from day to day.

On a related note — gin is my kryptonite.  I try to lay off, because it’s hard for me to just have one, and when I have more than one, I start gin-texting.  Nasty texting.  Or emailing.  For some reason, last night I wrote out a gin-fueled email, the first in a long time, correcting the spelling and getting the jabs just right, and then I deleted it without sending it.

That may not sound like too much of a feat to you, but believe me, it is.

One for super-ego buzz kill!  Way to show up just at the right time, for once.

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three things…

  1.  Gotta admire those who choose to follow my blog when I’m not writing regularly.  You are a Bad.  Ass.  (Meant to be a compliment.)
  2. WTF kind of word is “executrix?”  Actresses should be known as actors.  Executrix-es should be known as executors.  No need to call out genders, especially if the female one contains “trix.”  DISCUSS.
  3. And, the new copier at work says, “Recovering from sleep mode,” when it is gearing up from economy mode.  Whoever wrote that, please find me with your technological prowess.  We need to be a couple.  Seriously…”recovering” from “sleep?”  This person gets it.

The end.

DadDadDadDadDadDadDadDadDad

untitledFrom the daughter:

Dad bought a truck that looks just like your boyfriend’s.

Dad is taking me to Paris on an overnight train.

Dad is doing a lot of biking.

Dad bought a sailboat.

From the old neighbor:

They’re painting your house.  It’s sage.  Looks nice.

From the mom:

I’M FRIGGIN’ FINE!  THANKS FOR NEVER ASKING…

 

 

Don’t you hate when the finish line moves at the last minute?

She was supposed to have her last chemo on June 19.  I can’t believe it is here after learning about her diagnosis last Thanksgiving.

But, she has an infection, and couldn’t get her treatment.  She can’t get it until the infection is cleared up.

The cat lady t-shirt and dangling cat earrings I was going to send her as a, “Well you slayed that dragon,” present haven’t come yet, so, there’s that…

She doesn’t Snapchat me anymore with her trademark goofy optimism.  I think I already said that.

I’m copied on group blasts, like the one about the infection, but she doesn’t communicate with me directly at this time.  Does she feel sicker than usual?  Depressed?  Does she need someone pushy to insist on doing things for her?

I’m worried.

Shocker, I know.  Me.  Worried.

She isn’t acting like herself, but let’s face it, she’s a whole new tempered self.

What does a person act like when their marathon’s finish line keeps moving farther away?

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Middle Wife Syndrome

It’s such a kitchy, catchy phrase, I wish I had a whole blog post to back it up, but sometimes, you just get hit with the title.

I imagine the syndrome would include:

paranoia that the first wife will find you and throw a pie in your face,
low self esteem, trying to make up for the first wife, which is futile, and
jealousy of the less-than-worthy, heed-no-warning-signs, juvenile, third wife

Or, you could just say she’s FREE-AS-HELL!

Why all the hyphenated word strings?

I-DON’T-KNOW…NOR-DO-I-CARE-TO-SPECULATE

Yeah, that about sums us up.

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Anyone disagree?

 

 

A Divorce Change for You

You didn’t have to change:

Your Social Security card
Your bank account
Your credit card account
Your driver’s license
Your passport
Your address
Your credit rating
Your tax bracket
Your home to renters insurance
Your car insurance coverage
Your health insurance coverage
Your depression prescription
Your therapy schedule
Your ability to entertain
Your ability to travel
Your wardrobe size, twice
Your shame meter

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You only had to change:
—  Your mind  —
To recite marriage vows
To wife #3

My “Plans” are to be “Plan-less”

The word “Plans” have kind of an 80s ring to it.  Maybe that’s because I was a young adult in the 80s and having “plans,” especially “weekend plans,” was a must.

What are your plans?
Do you have any plans for the weekend?
Any fun plans coming up?

I’m not a plans kind of person.  Not in the way this is meant, anyway.  What are my plans?  You mean to get an education, raise a family?  No?  I don’t know about plans for “fun.”  I only have life plans and resolutions, which are almost always not fun-related, but require steady work.

Do I have any plans for the weekend?  Not yet, and I’m hoping to keep it that way.  Plans are “to dos.”  Getting up later than a weekday, lazing around with a pot of coffee and a cat, and puttering around have to happen first.  I may check for happenings in my area after that, but usually it’s too late to make them, which is just fine with me.

I’m not competitive with anyone about their plans.  I don’t want my plans to outshine your plans or win a prize.  Plans on my part does not mean I am more popular, or more needed than anyone else.  I don’t have a list of mountains to hike or river rapids to conquer.

Are people who run around amassing constant “plans” running FROM something?  Keeping busy?  Or are they just exuberate about life?th

Doesn’t matter, I guess.  My plan is to be blissfully plan-less.