Another lesbian love letter … happy birthday my love

My one, my truth, my reason for idiotic bliss. I cherish this, your birthday as I have the others who have come before with as much awe and honor as I ever have.

You never cease to amaze me as we grow older, year by year and side by side.

The first birthday we shared I brought you the wrong gift but with all the right intention. You were so sweet about it all, I was embarrassed but glad to be with you.

My crush weighed so heavily on my brain I could barely remember to wrap your gifts.

Since your last birthday we never spent a night alone. You were next to me for cake and ice cream, for laughing until we cried and for beer on beaches. For every sweet moment in between.

My crush still weighs heavily and at times I can barely speak.

Sometimes it is all I can do, I stare in wonder and amazement that you are here with me. No miles to distance us. No goodbye need ever be long.

I am honored to spend this day, the birthdays previous and the days to come celebrating you. Your laugh and your smile. Your kindness and your generosity. Your strength and your courage. I admire you.

I am in awe of your ability to tackle anything that comes our way with strength and wisdom. You surprise me each passing year with your passion and commitment to our little family. I am moved by your beautiful gaze and am transported by your touch.

 

 

My pride, my lover, my best friend and my destiny. I have never been more grateful to be in your company.

Happy 41st my love, my gorgeous. My darling wife.

I adore you more than words will ever say.

 

 

 

A wedding day love letter, on the 3rd year anniversary. 

3 years ago I wrote and sent an email to my soon to be legally wed wife. It was an emotional and exciting time and the biggest day of our life together to date. 

As we celebrate this anniversary I wanted to share that originsl very personal email here. I do so with her blessing. 

Enjoy. 

        

We are getting married …. today. Not tomorrow or next week. Today.

I was not sure this day would ever make it here or that we would be ready when it did. Over the last few days as we patiently (and equally at times, not so patiently) watched the countdown timer tick away, I tried to think of the perfect wedding gift. I thought of a million things but nothing seemed right until I went back, all the way back to our beginning.

Do you remember how we started? It was an email, simple words typed and delivered digitally but neither of us could have know what was actually taking place.

It was never just words, never just an email, and neither is this one.

I decided to write you an email for your wedding gift, I know what you are thinking, that you didn’t get me a gift. The truth is you did, I have you, a lifetime with you is the greatest gift I could imagine. You are my whole world. I hope this reaches you with as much joy and surprise as the first one did.

I hope that every message you ever get makes you smile but this one especially I want to be like the first. All the anticipation, the joy, the flips in your belly, all the wonders of sweet enchantment.

Everyday is another chance to make sure you know how much I love you, adore you, need and want you. I don’t want a single day to pass in our marriage that I don’t remind you. Starting with the first.

I am not sure what I would do without you, I don’t want to know a life without you in it. So when we say our vows later today, know that I mean every word of them. Take it all in, just like you did in the beginning. Let your mind replay them over and over just like we read each others emails and texts … over and over again. You are truly my best friend, the perfect lover and the person I want to share idiotic bliss.

I can not wait to call you my wife.

With all my love,

~Cat

The problem with being a femme

The problem with being femme is so much more than any other lesbian label, stereotype or identity. It is complicated in its own nature. I know you are either thinking there is not a damn thing wrong with being femme or you just produced a list a mile long in your head before you even finished this sentence.

 

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Exaggerated Femininity

The Free Dictionary tells us femme means:

1. Slang A person, especially a lesbian or a gay man, who exhibits stereotypical feminine traits, often in an exaggerated way.

2. Informal A woman or girl.

Right. See? The very first stigma is right there in print, in the dictionary of all places.

So to be femme is to be feminine in an exaggerated way.

What the hell.

I think I might even be more confused about this labeling thing. I am not sure how exactly I am more or less exaggerated than any other woman. Yes, typically  I am perceived by the general public as a straight soccer mom, shopping for juice boxes and dropping my husbands suits at the dry cleaner.

I get that. I really do. I used to be exactly her.

I was the typical heterosexual soccer mom. However just because my life partner changed doesn’t mean I did.

Except in terms of how my community labels me.

I still wear dresses and cute strappy shoes. My hair is still worn long and I wear make up and pretty things to adorn myself regularly.

Out of curiosity I did a quick google search for the typical lesbian stereotype; this is what I found. (by the way be careful what search words you use in public …. yikes!!)

They all like / play sports.

No. We actually all do not. I hurt myself more often attempting to be sporty than I do walking around in stilettos.

They don’t shave and we all have really short hair hair cuts.

I most certainly shave and this untamed mane is all natural.

To be clear: no unwanted hair anywhere and this is most certainly not a wig on my head.

Or how about the classic “they all dress like men” …

Actually … I don’t wear anything from the mens section unless I’m wearing an oversized shirt and lounging about the comfort of my own home.

They are all aggressive and crazy. “Lesbians will ruin your life.” (you can’t make this stuff up)

Sorry … I don’t actually have an argument for this. I feel like this is a fair generalization of women in general. I can think of quite a few men who would whole heatedly agree – a scorned woman is nothing to turn your back on.

Straight, bi, lesbian, trans. We are all just a little crazy.

We are not however all the same and to categorize any such person into a defined set of traits is utterly ridiculous and incredibly unfair.

Does anyone actually identify entirely with their societal assignment?

Butch. Femme. Chapstick. Boi. Dykes (all seemingly 100 of them). I’m sure there are many, many more, none to which I can distinctly subscribe. I have read articles, looked at charts, taken silly quizzes and tried to figure out exactly what all these things require.

It is a bit dizzying. Perhaps my “exaggerated” feminine traits are in the way of clarity.

The day they ate all my cocoa almonds and the world almost ended

It may seem a little dramatic for a blog title … “The day they ate all my cocoa almonds and the world almost ended”  but it’s the truth.

I was having a bad day at work. I had skipped lunch because I knew we would be celebrating one of our favorite friends birthdays that evening.

My wife on the other hand had the day to herself and decide to get her snack on.

She found a hidden bag of cocoa almonds tucked away in the pantry. A delicious dark chocolate snack I was saving for a day of all days. The kind where you want to eat something deliriously chocolaty for dinner and wash it down with a chilled bottle of wine.

I wasn’t even so upset about it when she text me. She was giddy. Like she found a pot of chocolate wrapped gold coins at the end of a Skittles rainbow.

I didn’t pout when she told me she opened the bag and sampled the goodness inside.

It was alright. Really.

I was focused on making it the rest of my work day and getting to the restaurant on time. I knew what I was having when we got there too; a buffalo fried chicken salad with ranch, a couple beers and a big ole piece of that red velvet cake we bought the birthday girl.

To say I was hangry by the time we got to our favorite lakeside patio and were seated would be pretty accurate. I was both agitated by work events and starving from a lack of lunch break.

I needed sustenance … pronto.

We were seated and approached by non other than the server from our last visit. The one we didn’t like. The one who was slow to fill our drinks or even check on us last time. I was hopeful that this visit wouldn’t be a repeat.

I was so naive.

We did get our appetizer, and our first beer. He did take the cake to the cooler for us and promised to bring it out when we finished our meals. That was about the extent of my hopefulness.

Our friends orders came out wrong and missing side items. Our food never came at all. He never came back to check if everything was alright. I was getting more and more anxious and well … pissed off. I watched other tables get their orders. I watched the sun slowly setting on the horizon. I watched a small child nearly fall into the lake and  most importantly I watched my glass empty.

I was getting more and more irate. Have you ever witnessed a professional in the business of customer service be under served? It isn’t pretty. I said bad words. I shot a glare across the breezeway that made the server want to jump right past that unattended kid and into the lake.

Our friend flagged him down and forced him to confront our table. He nodded that he understood our complaints and ran off. A manager quickly came back to smooth things over. She made it all well, apologized for ruining our evening and summoned the remainder of our order.

We finished our meal and a second round before I requested the special item we brought in with us be delivered. The manager looked at me quizzically, she had no idea what I was talking about. Or she did and realized that this meant not only was dinner a disaster but it was a special occasion.

In the end everyone was fed, we shared cake with other tables and the helpful manager. Our bill was comped and we were given coupons to come back, all totally unnecessary as we are regulars and would have come back anyway. It was a nice touch though and I appreciated the efforts.

The end of the night came and I strolled into the house, put down my bag and went to turn out every light in the house so that we could go to bed.

I walked into the kitchen and there it was … my bag of almonds. Or should I say the bag that held my almonds when I left that morning.

It was like the final smack in the face.

One tiny chuck left in the bottom of the bag. The kids had polished off the sweet open bag of goodness like it wouldn’t be noticed.

I took a deep breath. Then another. I turned off the lights and took a shower. I climbed into bed unable to turn to the wife. I just couldn’t make her understand why I was so damn mad. My work, my birthday dinner surprise, now my almonds. My cocoa almonds!

When I was a child I was told once the world wouldn’t end if I had a bad day.

Yesterday it almost did.

 

Her Birthday.

Every year it is the same thing. She doesn’t want a big fuss but if she doesn’t get the traditional “happy birthday” and a gift there will be hell to pay.

The last couple of years we made a point to schedule our vacation time for her birthday week. Most of if not the entire week is spent on beach chairs, sipping from alcoholic beverages and soaking up every bit of sunshine humanly possible.

This year was no exception to the few before.

Except that I planned to buy her a birthday cake. I wanted to surprise her somehow in the room before her special adults only dinner. Her favorites, crab legs and more beer than one stomach should possibly hold.

Only this year it didn’t quite go as planned.

It so happened my only chance to get her cake was while she was with me. She had a minor tantrum right there in the bakery section of the grocery. I asked her to pick out a cake, she argues she doesn’t want one. I insist that the children want to celebrate her day and cake is how it’s done. She shrugs in  defeat and walks to the cake section again like a toddler forced to participate in group play.

She chooses a cheesecake.

I roll my eyes.
Not in such a way she shouldn’t have what she wants; I absolutely think one should be treated to any sweet desired on her birthday. However, I had planned on cheesecake for the private after dinner treat at her favorite restaurant.

She was ruining things and I was losing my temper.

Finally she picks a cake, after some threats and whispered expressions of aggravation. All the while we are circling a public shopping center. Shooting dirty looks at each other and anyone who dares notice the tension.

We make it back to the room and she gets her cake. The kids are happy. Everyone is happy.

Then comes time for the date night birthday dinner.

She loves crab legs, she eats them only once a year. The first year we were together we were engaged over crab by the ocean. Each birthday since the first she has enjoyed the same for her birthday week. It’s her thing. I don’t partake in such but I respect that it’s her favorite.

This year like all the others I watch her eyes dance when the plate is delivered. She reaches for the utensils to pull the meat from the long, freakish looking shells. She then drudges each piece into the cup of melted butter … dripping everywhere as she does. She scolds me to look away but I can’t. I just can’t avoid the butter on her fingers and the shine on her chin. You would think this to be intensely disgusting but in her own charm she makes it look sincerely endearing.

She continues on and about halfway into her mound she comes across a particularly tough leg to crack. She gives it her all and in slow motion we watch as a piece flings from our table to the next … narrowly missing the occupants. The piece bounces off an unknowing strangers handbag and onto the floor.

We look on horrified.

My hand to my mouth and her with buttery fingers still holding the remainder of the leg with a hint of butter slick on her chin.

Nobody seems to notice what just happened. I wait to take a breath for fear we will be escorted out before she can have her damn cheesecake.

We are asked if we might need a box, I advise we do. She exclaims to the waiter that she needs no box, only a shower. Probably an even mix of beer and truth talking.

Before long the plates are cleared and to-go boxes readied. We continue drinking her ginormous 100 ounce personal tap and casually discuss her day. Sunshine, sand, birthday dinner … it’s been a great day.

She heads to the bathroom and the waiter sneaks a fancy fried cheesecake thing with ice cream and a chocolate strawberry swirled concoction laced over the top. This bowl is surely delivered straight from the birthday heavens.

She is overjoyed.

The waiter comes back to ask her how she likes it, tells her happy birthday once again and retreats. She smiles.

Success.

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Birthday girl

Happy birthday my love. May we spend many more with even better stories to tell. I adore you.

Real marriage advice – life, love and not speaking to each other

It has taken me awhile but I think I have learned a little about relationships, marriages in particular. It can be such a beautiful thing, hand in hand with the intention of growing old together, raising your children and retiring to rocking chairs on the front porch. Then there are days where you can barely stand the sound your phone makes when they send you yet another text message, to which you will also be ignoring.

I have put together 7 age old ridiculous tips and some alternative real life advice from an actual married person.  Actual advice for us long term ball and chain type couples; the gay, the straight, the somewhere in between  … because we all at some point need to step back and just laugh at ourselves.

Never go to bed angry.  Seriously? Who is this helping if you stay up way past your working adult bedtime?

SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO TO BED. Your co-workers will thank me for this tip in the morning. You can hash out whose turn it is to clean the bathroom another time.

Always compliment your lover. I only agree with half of this. Do not throw around over used, thoughtless words you think she wants to hear.  She doesn’t. She will stop buying into your lip service pretty quick. That is no good for her self esteem. All you are doing is encouraging your partner to not believe anything you say. Ever.

Always be sincere. If she is looking hella hot in that dress, by all means tell her so.

**I use the pronoun “she” here but this applies to everyone. Keeping in mind this is  written by a woman who is married to a woman … I use the feminine for everything. This advice could easily be just as good for that gorgeous hunk of a man in your life.

Be reasonable in your expectations. I don’t even know what this means. What exactly is a reasonable expectation? This varies wildly. If you were raised outside of the jungle you know how to behave in society and with other people. Don’t stress about what you are expected to do as long as you aren’t being an asshole.

Real advice: No really. Just don’t be an asshole. The only expectation should be that you are kind to one another and expect that no day is ever the exact same as the one before. Roll with it together.

Trust each other. This is a hard one for me personally. Do I trust she won’t leave one day with our dogs in the passenger seat and a trail of dust behind her? Sure. Do I trust she won’t drink the last of the wine or eat all the fancy ice cream? No.

Real advice: Don’t cheat on her or eat all her ice cream. Done.

Figure out your finances before you tie the knot. Uhh, we have been married awhile and we still havn’t figured this out.

Real advice: You are on your own here. I have no advice. We make the money, we spend the money.

Be affectionate as much as possible. For the sake of everyone around you, please, we beg of you do not do this. It is rude and we will tell you to get a damn room.

Real advice: In the confines of your home or around a private corner in public places by all means grab a quick feel or smooch like teenagers. All is well and good until you are holding up the line at Target looking deeply into each others eyes.

Handle your disagreements in a healthy way. We all know that couple that breaks up and makes up all the freakin’ time. Stop it. Don’t break dishes, don’t drive off squealing tires, don’t call names and never, ever tell them you don’t love them. There is no glue to mend that kind of thing and spray paint and ribbons are not a fancy fix all. No matter what you read on Pinterest.

Real advice: Be honest, take time if you need it before you respond, use your best inside voice. We learned about not throwing tantrums and using inside voices in preschool yet sometimes we forget as grown adults.

The very best advice I have ever been given was to learn from successful couples who have amazing, healthy, happy marriages. Learn from those who know they are not perfect but they keep working on it anyway, those people are the successful ones.

Most of all be willing to laugh at yourself. It’s a lot better than being laughed at.

Leave me your best marriage advice in the comments below, I would love to hear your best “real” advice!

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Parenthood: tales of the lesbian step-mom

My kids are amazing. My wife is amazing. Together they are sorta a train wreck and today I feel a little like a helpless damsel in distress tied to the train tracks with nobody to save me.

This is how it all happened …

My youngest son (preteen) and my youngest daughter (barely a teen) live with my wife (acts like a teen sometimes) and I (always the mean mom) in our lovely rural home while their father lives across the country (we like it like that). This means for the bulk of the year we co-parent in my household with 2 moms. One of those moms never had an actual human child before this relationship, let alone a pair of prepubescent know it alls.

My kids love her, she is an amazing step-mom. She does everything I do as a parent plus more, mostly without complaining.

Like I said she is ahhh-mazing.

The kids absolutely agree, her meals taste better, she is more fun … she yells less. Whatever.

Then there are the days, like today. I get a text as a I exit the shower that the boy child is home. He didn’t catch the ride to school with his sister.

I wonder to myself what happened … is he sick? Should I check on him?

Then the real questions begin …. did I bring a robe to the bathroom?

Is this towel big enough to cover me if he is lurking in the hall?

Will he see me sprint naked and afraid the 3 steps from our bathroom to the bedroom door?

After the wife arrives home from the obligatory school drop off she begins to tell me the tale of 2 children. Of how the female child was dressed, back pack and shoes ready while her younger brother was most definitely not.

She describes for me in detail what happened with the boy.

He was standing in wrinkled shorts and holding his arms wide, in a gesture we can only guess was to make himself look bigger and scarier, like a grizzly bear in an old western movie. He stood there defiantly in support of his inaction this morning, making some desperate argument about why it is he wasn’t out of bed and ready to go. He stood there insanely ranting, thin arms spread wide, arguing about whether he did or did not wake in time to leave by 7:15.

As this was unfolding the wife was processing the entire scene in her head.

This kid was wasting precious teeth brushing time. In her infinite mom wisdom she decides the boy shall stay home. The punishment stood and she left him, in his sleep clothes, red eyed and cranky.

When she returned she checked in on him and found him playing video games. Like any kid home from school (as punishment?) would be doing. I didn’t have the time to argue as I slipped a cardigan over my shoulders and grabbed my bag for work.

A few hours into my work day I receive a Skype from the wife, not abnormal as we communicate periodically like this during my work day. This time it wasn’t about after work plans or when we were scheduled to take the car in for an oil change. No. This time it read like this:

[11:42:14 AM] Wife: Your son is up here looking for borax and glue
[11:58:44 AM] Me: uhhh, no?
[11:58:48 AM] Me: for why?
[12:00:01 PM] Wife: Making messes. Aka slime.
[12:00:14 PM] Me: No.
[12:00:29 PM] Me: Welcome to parenting boys 101
[12:00:35 PM] Wife: He was about to get into the Tide. I said no.
[12:01:09 PM] Me: this is the shit I need to blog about
[12:01:24 PM] Wife: Ha.
[12:02:02 PM] Wife: Yeah. I told him we aren’t making messes today.

I am 99% sure I am going to go home this evening to find no detergent for my laundry this weekend, a slime coating on my kitchen table, an empty potato chip bag and some soda cans mixed in with a beer bottle or few, and my kid still sitting in the same wrinkled shorts playing video games.

The truth is I really don’t think I want it any other way. Except maybe if they didn’t use all the Tide for slime and maybe tossed the dirty socks into the washing matching instead of kicking them under the couch. That would be good.

That seems like the perfect equivalent to untying the distressed damsel from the train tracks …

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These people are my heart. They make me laugh, make me cry. Mostly though they make me shrug my shoulders and smile.

 

 

 

Legally wed (almost) a year. Here is the recap …

It was this time last year that our home state made our marriage legal. We were so excited, it was like a second wedding day. Sorta like that … but without rain, stress, arguments or blisters. Good times.

So in the spirit of a (sort of) one year wedding anniversary I compiled the top 10 best of best things that happened this last year, our first full year of being legally married in our home state.

  1. We survived new car envy. She bought I convertible, I got jealous. We now share our vehicles. Whats mine is mine. What is yours is now mine too. I’m pretty sure it was in the vows.96a9c5c0cecad209aedb00bb45a2dffa
  2. The kids went away for the summer and we managed to focus a little time on us. Every relationship needs a little space alone to develop. Ours developed into missing the kids after a couple month extended honeymoon. Whatever works.Summer-of-Love
  3. We went to the beach, several times. There is nothing like feeling the sand between your toes. Or the sand hitting you in the face as it swirls around the car, coming off your beach gear. That’s what happens when you shove the sandy gear into the back of that super cute, top down convertible you HAD to take for the trip.  11137193_1011165278894072_8677361988249007150_n
  4. We watched fireworks for the 4th, from our mountain spot, all by ourselves. It was kinda romantic and super beautiful. The other fireworks throughout the year on the mountain, likely scaring the neighbors into calling for backup, maybe not so much romantic as horrifying. We are trying to keep our arguments to ourselves now. Sorry y’all. 11403087_1036972702979996_7696834849185982622_n
  5. We learned to budget. Just kidding, no we didn’t. We bought a new car and went to the beach a few times. We can’t seem to save any money. I have no idea why. Saving Money
  6. She learned to cook. Well, not really cook, but she can grill like nobody’s business. Thinking about our 1 year anniversary steak dinner she magically produced is making me hungry, 3 months later. sunset-2
  7. I changed my last time to hers. Finally. She ran out and changed the name on the mailbox … I am still learning to sign it. Or to recolonize it when called. fa38b4ca80e150dc2a1e9445abc452b4
  8. We made new friends. Together. Couple friends. That isn’t easy considering we are so different. It is almost like getting a raise, the one you don’t think it will ever happen. All of a sudden you are eating more than soup from a can, in your one room apartment, while talking to your cat before bedtime at 8pm. It’s a big wide world out there when you have couple friends to go explore it with. friends_cast_004a
  9. We found new things to explore together. Places to go, things to do, food to eat and fancy new beer to try. Again, a big deal because when we first met we didn’t have much more in common than mutual lust. No shame. None. 3190410_13213875_lz
  10. Last but certainly most important: Nobody was seriously injured or died. I’m not kidding, it was a close call a few times. Marriage is hard, apparently so is smothering your beloved with a pillow. wpid-wp-1432838209051.jpeg

Don’t be an asshole in the name of your religion

You’ve probably seen the recent headlines. You can’t go a day without hearing about it. Voices on both sides shouting to be heard.

I’m talking about religious freedom.

I get it, I really do.

If we are talking about freedom in the purest form I am a big supporter. You do your thing and I will do mine. No harm, no foul.

However, where is the line where one humans rights stop and another’s continue?

How does one determine where a person’s beliefs start and another’s should end when there comes a difference in the name of religious standing?

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The law separates church and state. It is one of the things I love and appreciate about my country. It’s right next to ridiculous holidays l get to take off work. 

With this in mind, should elected officials, who work for the people, not be held to the same standard? Why should current elected officials, those serving the state where elected, cite religion as a reason to not serve tax paying citizens equally? 

Case in point:

The County Clerk in Kentucky who is currently behind bars for refusing to comply with the law. She, along with her staff, were refusing to give marriage licenses to same-sex couples.

Refused.

Despite being told to comply or suffer legal consequences.

Her office refused to issue licenses solely on religious premise. Not for any legal or arguably reasonable fact.

Consenting aged, not otherwise legally entwined, unrelated, and of sound mind adults were denied marriage licences. Based on someone’s interpretation of religion and moral code. This seems the only moral high jinks I see going on.

The only real problem is that committed, matrimonial minded adults were denied their basic rights.

It was not so long ago that multiracial marriages were against the law. Seems ridiculous now. Yet what is happening here does not seem at all ludicrous for an obnoxious percent of the population.

The law is the law. It’s pretty clear. Black, white, gay, straight, hot or ehhh … not. Still. All equal.

Couples, according to US law may be married if they choose. 

Anywhere they choose. 

In any state they may reside, visit or find themselves otherwise geographically located at the time they deem their significant other worthy of a lifetime commitment.

Let’s just say for argument’s sake that I, a representative of a corporation, in charge of customer relations, decide that I shall no longer offer service to those customers which offend my religious beliefs.

*For the record, I am only offended by people who punish others in the name of religion.

Let’s say I refuse to allow services, which are clearly outlined by my company policy, to those I deem unworthy. My fancy desk and beautiful view would be parted faster than a  gentleman’s dollar bills on his first strip club visit.

That is how it is.

It’s basic decency to not be an asshole but more it’s the law, the rule, the policy. We as society live by them even if we don’t feel like it some days.

Sure you can get away with a little eyebrow raising behavior. Like speeding on a quiet country road. Or offering a little extra discount to people who you have common interests (where my gays at?!)

A little bout of shenanigans is the spice of life.

Ruining someone elses in the name of (insert your religion here) is absolutely not.

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I’m not one who is going to start spitting bible versus but isn’t there a little something about love and acceptance in there? Maybe a little something about not judging others? How about just plain not living your life being an asshole to others?

If you absolutely must be cruel based on your “religion” then maybe, possibly, you could manage to not hold an elected government position.

In a world full of strangers

Everything you have read from me has been hilarious.

Fine, it was at least funny in parts.

I try to be light hearted as much as possible. No matter what. Anything to make the next day better. Sarcasm helps.

Some days though … there is no strength left for better.

Some days it just feels like I’m dragging around a body. Just posing my limbs throughout the day like a stylish department store clothing display. Moving my mouth to form words in such a way that to call it interacting with society would be a generous stretch.

I’m in autopilot and I’m surrounded by strangers. Overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, dramatically desperate.

I left the doctor today with strange news. There is a major malfunction in my body but it is fixable. Correctable once the source of the problem has been diagnosed. Probably. Hopefully.

Great news, right? No.

I like to be in control. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. I am great at being in control. I mean it’s not like I land airplanes for a living but I direct and reflect trouble like a boss.

Except now. Right now I am all alone. I am broken. I don’t want to share the pits of my despair with anyone in particular. I don’t want to pour my story onto a white page to be discovered by strangers.

Actually. Yes. Yes, I do. I want to share my story. It’s not always witty and entertaining. Sometimes it’s sad and raw and real.

The entirety of the situation is rather embarrassing really.

That makes me sad.
Or mad.
Not gangster style mad though … more like blogger mad. Instead of roughing up the rivals I will take to my blog and punch the keys with intent. That’s right, the sound of my typing can probably be heard from outside the house.
I’m an angry typer.

It’s been a tough couple weeks. I have not blogged purposely because I didn’t want to share sad. Sad isn’t witty or funny or entertaining. It’s just … sad.

Not very long ago I watched my children walk with contained excitement onto an airplane destined for the other side of the country. To be delivered to the other half of their parental unit. They couldn’t wait to find their seats and I panicked when I lost sight down the airplane corridor.

I cried on the way home.
I lost control.

I will miss them. They are gone for a few more weeks. If they need me I won’t be there. I don’t know what to do with that. How do parents do this? Why is this a thing?

Yes, they are safe.
Yes, they are healthy and happy and having a blast.
Yes, I’m still crying.
So what.

Also entirely out of my control?

My marriage. My beautiful, amazing, brag worthy and public love letter inspiring union.
What could be so bad about that? My fairy tale is made of regular everyday normal people, that’s what. People who sometimes reach a crossroads. I have no control over the depths of my love and just the same seemingly no control over the limits of human patience. My carriage may have turned into a pumpkin. No fairy godmother, just humble pie. Good thing I still believe in happy endings.

Sometimes you just want to go where nobody knows your name. Where you are surrounded by strangers. Where you only need to be in control of you.

I need to be reminded that the world still turns, the sun still rises and the moon will still beckon to the lost souls. Even if I get lost in the crowd. Even if I get lost and have to relinquish my control.

Sometimes I just need to be in a world full of strangers.
with my humble pie.
a glass of wine would be great too.