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.

Yeah.

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?

 

 

 

 

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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.

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…

 

 

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.

thQXW7KECM

Anyone disagree?