Thursday, December 16, 2010

This is how I write...and it works...until someone criticizes me.

I am a thinker.  Always  have been.  I remember sitting in class starring out the window, or the wall, or the floor...thinking.  When I got tired of thinking in the classroom I would pretend I was sick so I could lay down in the almost but not quite cozy, but comfortably cool cot in the nurse's office.  Guess what I did there, laying down in the almost but not quite darkness....think.

I was known as the girl who daydreamed.  I can't help it.  I had lots to think about.  For instance, I wanted to know who my future husband was going to look like.  What was he going to be like.  Was he going to be like my dad?  Stern, but yet funny.  Unexpected bathroom humor?  Or was he going to be like my friend's dad...kind hear-ted and  not funny.  Oh I hope not.   I understood what they meant when the daughter's find guys who are like their fathers.

I didn't think about too much about what my children were going to look like.  I took it one step at a time.  At age 6, thinking about the man I was going to end up with and living in my New York City penthouse, while getting spa treatments at the famous Elizabeth Arden's Red Door while being seated by no other; Mia Farrow.  So as you can see, I took my thinking, one step at a time.  

Did any of this happen?  Stay tuned to find out.  But here is a husband did end up in New York City on the 70th floor of a high rise apartment building.  And where did I end up?  Still searching...but not for a husband.  :)

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

So this is it?

I'm 38 years old, divorced....and have one child.  Thank god (HA 'HA HA' refers to what you would call an oxymoron, but we'll get to that later)  I have one child, it's hard to raise children, especially the Me Want Now generation in this economy.  That's me and my son.  He's cute isn't he?  Yeah yeah yeah, I know what you are going to say...."I hope his dad has blond hair." or "Does his dad have blond hair?"  I hear this all the time.  My answer?  Nope.  His dad is black.  I don't know what happened...oops.  
I don't care what people say.  Or what I say to people for all that matter.  I am me. and I love me.  If you don't like me, then you have a huge problem because I'm a lot of fun.  I am a great person to get to know. I am also a great person you would love to hate.  :)
I am jobless and educated.  I need to make money, but what I'm good at, is making a man feel secure and happy.  Cleaning, cooking, managing the house.  You could say I'm a displaced housewife.  But this day and age a displaced housewife gets you nowhere and nowhere fast.  I do keep in shape, love to work out. But see, I'm stuck.  Stuck in a tiny city in the middle of the country.  I have been told I don't belong here.  Which kind of hurts, because I'm here.  If not where?  Where do I belong?  I get along better with those from other cities...other countries.  That tells me something.   It tells me I don't belong here.
So this is about me and my son belonging.  Trying to fit in.  
Perhaps I should tell you my story and how we both got to this point.   It's a sad story and at the end of this sad story, you would say what most people say..."What a prick!"