I’m “woke,” but not in the way you’d want

thK7I76TO2I just feel…woken up.  What have I been doing for three years?  Is it culminating to something?

In six days it will be the third year anniversary of the fateful trip “-” took with the woman he married after me.

#metoo Jennifer Willoughby.  Hash-fucking-tag.

It would have also been my 26th wedding anniversary.  And, of course, it’s a lot of other things.  Good people’s birthdays, the day after Valentine’s Day.


I hate being a cliché, but I’m pretty done.  All the books said three years was it.

Am I headed to more commitment with my bf?  Am I ever going to change jobs to something I won’t loathe until I’m 67?  Or 70?

Will I be forever menopausally fat?

I’m engaging in EMDR soon.  I hope this will help, and yet, I hope it’s not just another method I’m going to try to be comfortable in my life and skin.

I get tired.  You know?  I’m tired of “trying.”

And yet, what’s my alternative?






Gut Checked

isHe gave me a card, as he does once in a while out of the blue, about how I see him happy, and grumpy, and sick, and silly, and thank you, for still choosing to love him.

He let me take custody of his grandmother’s rocking chair indefinitely because I said I missed having one.

He told me to take my time getting over my divorce — to be true to my own timetable.

He called me a “lovely woman.”

It was a good weekend.




I’m having a gut check…

thDo you want to have lunch at the Thai restaurant?

No, let’s just grab a sandwich at our usual.

How are you?

Ok.  I had bad dreams…You left me.

Do you want to come over on Tuesday nights and watch Genius together?

I could do that.  We sleep better in my bed, though.

Do you like my new purse?  I decided it was easier and cheaper to just buy a new bag instead of searching for new handles for my old one.

Well, it’s not a Dooney & Bourke, is it?





Rights and Wrongs. You don’t scare me, Beginning of 2017.


Full moon is gone.

Friday the 13th is gone.

Cancer isn’t gone, but at least it’s not as “here” as it was a couple of days ago.

That horoscope was wrong — my relationship didn’t fall apart on 1/12.

So, there you go.  Wrongs look right and things you read that you assume are right are, in the words of Trump,



“You’re wrong.”


“Fake news.”

I think I may be one of those people who desperately looks for answers outside of myself, when they are completely ignored on the inside.

Sun is shining.

It is not dark when I get out of my work building anymore.

You don’t scare me January!


I’m ditching this horoscope source, unless it turns out to be accurate, then I’ll just be its frightened slave…

“Love Forecast for the Week of January 9
Your love life might be quite emotional this week — and not in a happy way.
A stressed out Full Moon on Thursday in your romance sector threatens your heart strings — or wakes them up. It’s possible that you’ll come to the uncomfortable realization that the person you’re with simply is unable to meet your emotional needs.”

Isn’t this a lot of shit to process on only the 9th day of the year?!  Where are the upbeat, hopeful platitudes for a new beginning?  We got stuff blowing up right out of the gate?   

I hope it’s not true, but if it turns out to be true, I will be a loyal reader, and just have to know, that with all that goes on in the world, someone’s got to have a shitty horoscope.  I guess that might be me this week.  thodj458lvI’ll keep you posted.  If my bf had a mustache like this guy, I wouldn’t be so heartbroken, but to each his or her own.

Screw Strife; Happy Life

Here are two pictures of things I did this weekend:


  1. I went to a David Bromberg concert.  He has many, varied, great songs, but I was introduced to him by hearing his song, “I’ll take you back.”  It scratched the getting-divorced-spot exquisitely.  He’ll take her back when, “water ain’t wet and congress pays off the national debt.”  You get it.  And,stash-pumkin
  2. I carved this lovely jack-o-lantern.  This is supposed to look like my bf’s cat.  If you knew how un-crafty I am, you would be very proud.  Despite the fact that the cat’s tail looks like a dragon, or some kind of reptile tail, and it’s a little lopsided, I like it.  It does look like by bf’s cat.

My weekends are happier.  I’m happier.

There’s always strife, but it’s easier to box up these days.



Does that make me awful? Does that make you un-awful?! Is the grass blue? Wait, was that a pig?

So far in my life, this was my gig:  telling you I would never do something you didn’t want me to do, and then doing it in the dark (you’d never find out), shaking my head yes, with no intention of following through on your stupid idea.

You were too volatile to explain things to; too self centered to entertain a new idea.  I had tried.  For years.  I thought that made me better than you.

Now that I’m the target of passive-aggressiveness, I f*ing hate it.

It’s so oppressive.  Like humidity.  I just want some AIR, but knowing the passive-aggressive game, I know she’s just gearing up.  She has months left until she’s tired of smothering me with it, if not years.

When you go on the interweb to find helpful ways to deal with this treatment, you also get a big side dose of how awful passive-aggressives are.  Just like you do when reading up on tips to handle narcissists.  Yeah, they suck!

Now, wait a minute…

Yes, she is acting awful.  I don’t deserve her treatment of me.  But I’m not awful.  Yet, being passive-aggressive has been pretty much a mainstay for me.

Does that make me…


Does that make the narcissist in my life…


Just misguided sometimes, as I like to think of myself?

No, I can’t extend this kindness to the narcissist yet, but being the kindred spirit to the woman who is mentally torturing me is…

Weird.  Mind blowing.  All consuming.  Earth upending.  And, softening.

Image result for upside down earth

Can I extend her some kindness?

It’s exhausting to be forced to learn all life’s lessons in the span of two years:  death of a parent; mental illness diagnosis of a child; divorce; moving; trying not to toy with the next significant other’s heart; wondering if you really are the “good” person you always told yourself you were.