Happy Halloween y'all!

She might look a tiny bit like Drew Barrymore here.

Maybe.

Say what you need to say.

Do you find that when you say things out loud you are more likely to do them?

Because yesterday? I didn't just say something. I declared to the president of my company that I WILL raise $10,000 for breast cancer research in the next two years.

I didn’t even flinch y'all.

I said it. I meant it.


And I feel completely compelled to do it.

Things I shouldn't do lately.

1) Watch The Biggest Loser on the television.

Because as much as I puffy pink heart The Biggest Loser? I find myself shrieking things at the television like,

"BITCH, PLEASE! WE ALL KNOW HE CHEATED!"

And Jason tells me I need to have a rest period.

2) Talk to my dog like she's a person.

3) Talk to anyone at work about anything other than work related activities.

4) Smile at strangers.

They always think I'm hot and sexy (gag) and want to talk to me and/or have me do stuff to them. Which is SO not going to happen.

5) Check my email fourty-eleven times a day.

6) Say things like, "Look! They are in a such a hurry! They must be missing their drugs!" when someone speeds past my vehicle going fifty-five in a school zone and my children are in the car.

I can't help it. I'm not right.

I'm getting there.

So I guess, according to Jesus and a preacher whose name is Jason (seriously, that's his name and like fifteen people I met on Sunday were named Jason as well), I'm supposed to be forgiving people.

And I really, really, REALLY like that idea. Because if I don't forgive people how am I supposed to go on with my bad self?

But, guess what? Forgiving people is hard. I mean, really, really hard. And I gave birth to two babies on the same day and all by myself, so I totally understand what hard means.

So I sent a card to someone who probably doesn't give two craps about having my forgiveness, but really needs my forgiveness anyway.

We'll see what happens.

Changes.

One of the many things I love about my therapist is that it doesn't matter what I tell him, he's always going to be the same. He's consistent. He gets it.

I need this. Right now.


I'm struggling. I think it's obvious if you read this blog. I'm struggling.


But it's getting better. It's getting easier. I'm making decisions.

On Sunday morning at 2am I was wide awake and I had a thought,

Very soon, your life is going to completely change


Something about it was so profound. So very, very real.


I believe it.


I'm at a point that things are going to change. For better or worse, I don't know yet.


But they are going to change.

The Jesus Show.

As much as I loathe the words, "Church Shopping", I suppose that's what we are doing. Trying places out, trying to see where we belong. I suppose we're just trying to figure out if there is anywhere we belong.

It's not fun, you know? It makes me feel like even more of a freak than usual. And that? Is a lot.

So today, again, we went somewhere new.

It was big outside, but not so big on the inside. Everyone was pretty nice.

The sermon? Was about forgiveness.


Because, apparently, sometimes the Lord gets tired of me and all my advanced b.s. and just sits my fat ass down directly where I need to be. Whether I like it or not.


The kids had their own children's program and they absolutely loved it. They thought it was the best thing ever and asked if we could go back next week.


I said we could.


We will.





I'll do it. And? I'll probably like it.

I wish...

that when you are the most scared and most in need of a friend, that people wouldn't turn away from you.

Differences.

He's coming around, that husband of mine.

I imagine it is hard for him to be married to me. I'm kind of loud and just say things, even when I probably shouldn't. I tell more than I should and I have a great deal of enthusiasm for things I probably shouldn't.

I married a quiet man. Funny and kind and smart. But quiet.

I didn't tell him at first about this blog because I figured he would freak out. When I finally did tell him, he didn't. I don't know if he liked it, but he didn't freak out.

As things move on and progress, I find myself worrying more and more about him. How he feels about having his life on display.

Lately we've been talking. I've been dreaming what-if's. I finally told him what the book I've been querying is all about. And what the next book will be about. Which is, basically, him.

And he was okay.


He cares more about my dreams than he does his own privacy.
He knows I will protect him.
He knows that I know where to draw the line.


He trusts me.



And I love him.

Like a motherless child.

I had two dreams.

One of them was that I was offered a book contract. For the book I've already written.

I don't remember anything else about that dream.

The other dream was that I was having a conversation with my mother-in-law.

I haven't spoken to her in four years. More than four years, actually.

We were sitting on her porch swing. (She doesn't have a porch swing in real life, unless she's acquired one in the past few months) She is being nice. We are talking. We are figuring out what went wrong.

This time, I am the one in control.
This time, she is the one that is crying. That is wanting. That is trying desperately to make the other person understand.

Not me.


Five or six years ago, I tried to have this conversation with her. I tried to tell her how I felt. I tried to make her understand that I loved her son and I wanted to be a part of her family. That I was hurt by her actions. I was hurt by being left out.

It did not go well.

I cried a lot. She said really mean things to me like, "You will NOT make my son choose. If you try to make my son choose between us, he'll pick me."

I guess that didn't really work out how she planned.

But the thing was, I wasn't trying to make him choose. I never tried to make him choose. I never wanted there to be a choice.

I just wanted to belong.

I grew up with two sisters. Both my sisters are beautiful and special. I was ordinary looking and fat. I felt invisible. I felt like I didn't even matter. I was just quiet and no one felt I was very interesting, even though I was interesting, it's just that no one noticed or cared.

And here I was, looking at a chance to be the ONLY something. The ONLY daughter-in-law. It was a primo opportunity for me, and I knew it. And I really, really wanted it.

But that's not what she wanted.

Or rather, *I* wasn't what she wanted.

I don't know why I'm thinking of all this. I don't know why this is coming to me in dreams. I guess because it looks as though I'm going to have to deal with all of this soon.

So I'm trying to detach.

And I'm remembering that even if I didn't want him to pick between us, he did. And he picked me.

He loves me. He's on my side.

Our side is awesome.

And I tell myself that it doesn't matter if she likes me or not. Really, she doesn't even know me. She never even tried to know me.


I'm telling myself all this.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Because my friends? They send me things like this:




If there is more to life than this? I don't even know if I could handle the wonderfulness of it.

Life= FAIL.

It's not healthy to be me these days. And I'm not just talking about all the ways I manage to injure myself. I mean, within the span of a month I bruised the absolute crap out of my knee, twisted my ankle, SOMEHOW got a huge bruise on my thigh and then fell into a river. I FELL. INTO. A. RIVER. Do normal people do that? I don't think so.

In addition all those mishaps? I'm also obsessed with the past. And things I can't change. People I don't see anymore. Places I don't go anymore. You get the idea.

And this is way beyond me Googling people and sending their pictures to my friends and saying, "Am I prettier than her?" Not that I don't still do that. Because I do. But it's other things too.

I feel out of place. But I don't know where the place I'm supposed to be is, either. Because after a while? If you feel out of place everywhere? Then it's you. You know? Every place on Earth can't be the wrong place.

There's something wrong with me. And it's not that I'm fat or a bitch or a cunt or whatever else anonymous douchebags want to say about me.

I just don't feel like I fit in anywhere.


And yes, I know I'm having a bad time. Things are not normally like this. I should be grateful for all the good things I have. And I am.

I'm just having a bad time.

Blue. Or some crap.

Lately, I've been feeling like giving up.

Not on life. I'm not suicidal or anything like that. A whole, whole lot of my existence is pretty freaking spectacular. My husband and kids and even my stinky-ass dog all rock my world. My house is small, my heart is big. Or you know, whatever.

But I'm tired. I'm tired of writing. I'm oh. so. tired. of being rejected. I'm tired of people calling me fat and calling me a cunt. It's like being attacked and there's nothing I can do about it.

There are other things as well. Anonymity, for one. Relationships are complicated. Blah, blah, blah. I've been down this path many times and it's never easy or fun. Lately, it's ramping up. And it's hard.

I don't like it.

I've been struggling with something from my past. Something I've never written about. I'm not yet sure I want to write about it. Not sure if there would be any benefit. I hate that too...that indecisiveness. I'm not prone to indecision. In fact, I try really hard not to over think anything. I think just enough and then I act. I have stuff to do. Important stuff, and not just things like talking to my sister on the phone and calculating Points values and trying to think of ways to make chicken exciting again.

Thus, I am bummed.


I got an email on Sunday night and I hope the author doesn't mind if I share a very small portion of it here:

And you inspire me to actually LIVE what I PREACH. What with the whole, "be your own kind of beautiful" thing and what-not.


And my God. MY. GOD. That is horrendously flattering. And wonderful. And...inspiring.

Because lately I'm not feeling it so much.



I really need to get it back.


So thanks, new reader. Maybe Steph will get her groove back.

And that's how I ended up with no pants on.

I have these wonderful ideas, you know? For example, today? I thought it would be a really good idea to go for a nature walk.

On rocks.

In a river.


Did I ever mention that I have the grace of a messy, deadly plane crash?

And that it was about 60 degrees in the mountains today?


Maybe?



Thank God Jason keeps a blanket in the back of the car. I'm really glad I didn't give those truckers a peep show on the long, cold ride home.

We've been here a long time.

Last night as we were coming down a dark, windy road after our date:

Jason: "Did you seem them squirrels?"
Me: "Yes!"


A few moments later.

Jason: "Oh my GOD. I just said 'them squirrels'!"
Me: "I KNOW. The worst part was? It took me a minute to recognize how incorrect it was!"



I have the best life. Ever.

I'm just pretending!

I really enjoy being a mother. This does not mean that I'm a good mother or anything. I don't delude myself into thinking I've got this down or whatever. But I do enjoy being a mother. Especially the parts that involve ice cream. Oh, and getting to make pecan pie. I freaking love pecan pie.

Recently I gave some advice at Scrivel (which was, duh, all made up and supposed to be funny) which caused someone to refer to me as a cunt and then come over here to my blog and call me a cunt again. So I'm kind of meh about giving advice right now, so this TOTALLY ISN'T ADVICE AT ALL, but this is something I have done and it's worked for me.

(And bear with me, seriously, because it is SO infrequent that I get to give any kind of information, WHICH IS NOT ADVICE, about parenting)

I present:


Consequences

This? Works for me. For US, I should say.

It takes all the emotion out of punishment. It just is what it is. You do the crime, you do the time. Or some other generic bad movie reference.

So. There you go. I won't say "You're welcome" because it's really, totally not advice.


And yes, the word "Bitchy" is part of the Consequences chart. At least it didn't say douchebag.





And the magnet next to it says, "Eat your raisins. They make your ass stink less."

I never said I was a good mom.

Coming home.

Jason is back and it's a good thing.

Because while he was gone I did the following:

1) Ate fajita nachos. With lots of onions.

2) Watched Bridezillas. With this look on my face:

3) May or may not have given this dog refried beans:
4) May or may not have laughed hysterically when said dog farted repeatedly.

5) Hung this big ass 11x14 photograph over our bed:

6) And this one on the living room wall:

7) Found photgraphic evidence that my husband used to have hair. Lots of it. Observe:

8) Called him at 10pm and shrieked, "Oh my God! You used to have hair! You had a fro!"

9) Dealt with the fact that he was not amused by the above conversation.

10) Then, watched a Lifetime movie which featured Tori Spelling and shrieked at the television, "RUN TORI RUN!"

Don't you wish you had my life? For reals.

I am SO thirty-three!

When I was a kid, thirty-three seemed like...a million. I could not fathom being this age.

But I am.

I'm thirty-three today.

My kids are ten, almost eleven.


My husband is still thirty-two, but he'll be joining me soon enough.


I don't have a baby with said husband. I never will. But I have a dog. She burps a lot, but that's no indicator of her awesome amount of awesomeness.



And things are just fine.




Even when they suck? It's all just fine.

I just need to stop.

I have to stop reading blogs until this election is over. Not just blogs. Everything. The newspaper. The internet. Everything.

I really believe that people have every right to their own opinion. Honestly I do. And I respect that. I respect your opinion, whatever it is. I don't always agree with it, but I respect it. Because if I know you, or don't know you, it doesn't matter. I respect you and your right to have an opinion.

I do not respect when people say what I think is stupid, simply because they don't agree with it.


I don't blog about politics. I never have. I won't.


Because, frankly, it's no one's business who I vote for. It's no one's business how I feel about the stock market or unemployment or the war. It's no one's business where I worship.

And it's none of my business how you feel about it. I won't ask you. I won't tell you. Probably, if I open your blog and you are writing about politics, I'll leave politely. Even if I adore you (and there are a lot of bloggers I adore), I'm likely not going to read or comment on it. It doesn't mean I don't care about you. Even if we have differing political views, I still respect you. And if we are friends, I love you. Even if we don't agree on everything. We're still friends.


But if you think I'm stupid because of how I feel about things? You don't even freaking know me.


And I don't want to know you.

Whatever and you know, whatever.

About four hundred people have tagged me lately to do that thing about listing seven quirks or odd things about myself or whatever. I'm sorry that I can't recall everyone (okay...anyone) who actually tagged me. I'm a big hot mess. And no, I'm not counting that one as one of my quirks.

1) This one time? I was drunk-dialed by someone who is technically my relative but had no business drunk-dialing me.

And he told me things and stuff. Things and stuff which are bad. Bad, bad.


Similarly....

2) This one time? My former boss drunk-dialed me.

You would just have to work where I work to understand this.

And yes, it was a woman.

And yes, it was hilarious.


3) I have an almost painful obsession with Googling people that I used to know.

Sometimes? I google pictures of Jason's ex-girlfriends? And I email them to my friends? And I say, "I'm prettier than her, aren't I?" and they always say yes.

I guess I should be ashamed of that but sadly, I am not.


4) I think porn, for the most part, is hysterically funny.

I can't even justify that. I just think it's funny. I don't think sex is funny. But porn cracks me right up.


5) I talk a big game, but I'm really pretty chill.

For the most part? If you are not me or my spouse or my children? I don't give two craps what you do. If you want to dance around and drink martini's off somebody's butt, help yourself. I could give a crap.

I don't care what political party you support. I don't care if you eat meat or not. I don't care if you are fat or thin or inbetween. I don't care if you wear fur. I don't care if you have fake nails or are poor or live in a tanning bed. I don't judge you if you go to church or don't go to church. Hell, I don't even look down on you if you like Paris Hilton.

You are who you are. And I'm cool with that.

If you're a pedophile or beat your kids or are mean to animals, I have issue with you. And I'm sure there are some other things I have issue with. But for the most part, do your thing honey!


6) I do not understand women who are afraid to date because they are overweight.

I mean no offense, honestly I don't. But your life doesn't start when you get skinny. It's now, today.

And seriously? There are no shortage of men who think a girl with boobs and hips is sexy. I don't know if people watch to much television or what, but this is real life and a lot of men like something to hang onto.

So go out and find one, if that's your thing. For the love of God.


7) I find it hysterically funny when infants flip the bird.

I can't help it. I'm not right.

I love you. Go away.

Is it bad that when Jason said to me, "I'm going to be gone on your birthday, I'm sorry" the only thing I could think was, "He's going to be gone! Yay! I can have mexican food!"?



That's probably bad. Right?


I love him. I adore him. And sometimes I really like it when he's not here.

I really like having the bed to myself. I really like taking my time when I take a walk. I really like having a long, hot bath and not having to worry about the water. I like having the ability to do laundry whenever I want. I like having mexican food, in the living room, with the television on. I like NOT watching any news and ONLY watching crap like Lifetime Television and WE.

I don't want him gone forever. But I find two or three days at a time of him being gone to be quite enjoyable.


Maybe I suck. Maybe I'm normal.

Either way.

Mexican at my house this week! Woot!

Exhausted.

I'm so tired tonight. The Race for the Cure was this morning and it kicked my considerable arse.

So go read this guest post I did at Who's Your Dachshund!

Oh and to the person who found my blog by searching for, "What is Jason the God of?" let me just tell you. Very little.




XOXOX!

Chickanese.

Douchenozzle: An unpleasant individual. See also douchehat, douchenugget, and asshat.

"Jesus God, he's such a douchenozzle!"

For the love of God!: An expression of annoyance. Usually directed toward my spouse.

"Jason! For the love of God!"

Oh for the love of Christ!: An expression of annoyance. Usually directed toward my spouse.

"Oh for the love of Christ, Jason! Bill O'Reilly is hardly an shining example of journalistic integrity!"

Piddle-dick: Slow and/or lazy.

"Quit piddle-dicking around and move the hell on!"

Sawed-off: Bad.

"Willis is a sawed-off son of a bitch".

Slap: Entirely.

"I am worn slap out!"

Umpty-frat: Numerous.

"I've told you umpty-frat times Clyde! I don't have the stupid document!"

Whatthedamnhell: An expression of surprise and/or confusion.

"Whatthedamnhell is going on here?"

Open Letters: I-have-to-drive-85-miles-every-day-what's-your-excuse-edition!

Dear guy in the black pick-up truck,

Clearly, you are a man who enjoys all things related to the male anatomy, as evidenced by the items displayed on the back of your vehicle. The Calvin peeing on George Bush, the nutsack you had hanging on your tailgate, and especially, oh so most especially, your homemade bumper stickers.

As a concerned citizen, however, I feel it is my civic duty to inform you that if you are going to make yourself a bright yellow bumper sticker that reads:

"IF YOU LIKE MY TRUCK YOU SHOULD SEE MY PEENIS"?

You should use your spell-check.

In case you aren't quick (and I just have no idea what would bring me to that conclusion, but humor me), the word you are referring to is spelled PENIS. I can see how you would be confused seeing as how you use your PENIS to PEE. But seriously. PEENIS doesn't mean anything.

So you might want to fix that because it's probably sort of maybe likely that's why the chicks aren't flocking to see your penis.

XOXOX!
That Chick





Dear lady who almost killed me on Tuesday,

Hon, I know how exciting Wal-Mart must be for you, what with their low, low prices and good value on things like cheese, but for real. You must learn to read street signs.

Because that road you came out of? Was clearly marked RIGHT TURN ONLY. I've been on it. I've checked. It does not say, "GO LEFT, CUTTING ACROSS FOUR LANES OF TRAFFIC, WITHOUT LOOKING". I'm positive it doesn't.

And I know I scared you when I jammed on my brakes and my brakes locked up and skidded ten feet and left huge skid marks on the road. It scared me a lot as well and there was nothing I could do about it because you decided you didn't want to, you know, go fifteen feet more and turn around. I mean, I know the experience of shopping at Wal-Mart is some sort of gratifying mecca in your universe, but really? You aren't allowed to be stupid and almost kill me. I do enough of that crap by myself.

Anyway. Work on that. There are people out there who love me and I'm pretty sure they'd come after you if you killed me. And have you seen my husband? He could totally kick your ass.

Thanks,
That Chick





Dear Lady who lives two streets over from me,

Bitch, please.

I know you are like 200 years old and things like cars confuse you greatly, but if you stand in your yard and point at me as I go by one more time? I'm going to break your finger off and shove it up your nose.

Let me clarify a few things Gertrude:

PEOPLE DRIVE ON STREETS.
I AM DRIVING THE SPEED LIMIT ON A PUBLIC STREET.
YOU DO NOT OWN THE STREET, DESPITE THE FACT THAT THE STREET IS IN FRONT OF YOUR HOME.

I was not raised right but somehow managed to overcome that and I know that it is not polite to point at people. However, I have taught Boy and Girl Child to point and laugh at you every time they see you. And I do not feel guilty about it. No, not at all.

XOXOXO!!!
That Chick

All the answers. Or some crap.

Scrivel has a new look these days.

And I decided to get in the advice business. Because clearly, I have it all together. Clearly.


So check it out. And if you have a question you want "Ask Chick" to answer, email it to me already!


I'll be nice. Promise.









Okay, I maybe won't. But email me anyway.

Layers.

Yesterday I saw Big Jim for the first time in a month. Apparently my mental health has not been as much of an issue as of late, and Big Jim even commented on the fact that I seemed "better".

He was quick to tell me, from day one actually, that I'm not crazy. That it would be much easier for me if I were crazy.

Not crazy. Just broken.


Can you become less broken? I suppose. Somewhere is some grand, cosmic glue that can fix who I am. Put the pieces back together and make me whole.

But the thing is, when something is broken? You can put the pieces back together. You can put them back together carefully and perfectly.

The cracks are still there.


Not that it's not okay. It is.

I'm happy.


It's so odd to think that. To type it. To feel it.


I'm happy.


Things aren't perfect. I've successfully conquered fears about a lot of things and a lot of people, but others still linger. I can't fully divorce myself from certain people. I'm not even sure if I want to, really.


So I guess I'll just be cracked. I guess that's what I'm supposed to be.




It's not so bad.

How I go on.

I know. I know. You guys are probably tired of hearing about my fat ass and the process of losing it.

But. BUT. I got on the scale this morning and I was down 2.2 pounds since last week.

Two! Point! Two!


And I'm sorry. That's just freaking awesome.


Since September 7th and starting the Lose for Good campaign I have lost 9.6 pounds.

Since I started Weight Watchers I have lost 35.4 pounds.


Since moving to Tennessee I have lost...49.4 pounds.


That's a lot.




Dang.


That's really a lot.





















Go me.

General Observances.

-Yesterday I got to meet this lovely blogger live and in person.

-She hugged me and it made me happy.

-I got to say to her husband, "I'm That Chick Over There".

-I had never said that to anyone before.

-It almost felt like saying, "Don't you KNOW who I am?"

-That's funny for reasons I can't even explain.

-On Saturday we took the kids to the Oak Ridge Playhouse to see The Velveteen Rabbit.

-They didn't burn the bunny. So that was a plus.

-Today I called someone at work an unmitigated puke.

-There were no consequences.

-I liked it so much that I called someone else a rancid douche.

-Again, no consequences.

-I laughed for eleven minutes when my boss said "balls".

-Really? I'm a fourteen year old boy.

-I thought I had a good idea for my book, but the publisher said no. It wouldn't sell.

-He's actually right.

-Tomorrow is my weigh-in.

-I'm hoping to be, magically, 100 pounds lighter.


-Chances are not good.

No. Not really.

I had a dream last night that this blog was listed in some national newspaper. The New York Times, I think.

The reason?

Because James Earl Jones loves my blog.


James. Earl. Jones.





I need help y'all. For real.

Life as I know it.

I've been spending time in my hometown lately, because of the research on my book. Most of the time I'm on the upper level of the library, reading and taking notes. And sneezing. A lot. Those old newspapers are dusty.

Yesterday though, as I was driving through town, I decided to take another road home. The road was the one I used to live on.

There, I saw the house that used to be mine.


It was different. The new owners have added a beautiful brown siding (oddly, the same color as my house). They have taken the entire deck off the back of the house and added huge bay windows in the front. They have extended the side of the house by probably fifteen to twenty feet.


It's a beautiful house now.

A house for a family. A real family.



I thought I might feel sad by seeing it, but I didn't. Oddly, it didn't feel sad at all. It felt...okay.

I didn't feel afraid.


It's not my house anymore.



It's not my life now.



I drove on further and came across the house that my ex-boyfriend lives in (Yes, my ex-boyfriend bought a house and lived on the same street as I lived with my first husband. I know). His house was in disarray. It looked like it was falling down around them.

Oddly enough, he was standing outside the house. At the front porch. It looked like he was maybe hanging a door.


It didn't feel weird or strange.


It's not my life now.


I had a lot of mixed feelings about writing a book about my hometown. I haven't lived there in ten years. My ex-husband still lives there (as far as I know...I haven't heard from him in nine years or so). He doesn't know where I live. I don't want him to know where I live.


But I'm not afraid now.


I'm just a writer. Just a writer who is writing a book.




What's there is not my life now.



I drove the two hours back to my little house in Knoxville. With my little children and my big husband and my ginormous puppy. I drove familiar streets and shopped at my same grocery store. I picked my children up at Tae Kwon Do. My husband came home. We had dinner. We sat on the porch swing and talked until it was dark.

The same things we do every night.


Because this is my life now. This man, these children, this world.

This is my life.




Thank God.

Just me.

Despite the fact that it is named for him, Jason is not a regular reader of this blog. He and I talk about it pretty frequently and he reads from time to time, but really? It's just kind of my thing. He and I have an unspoken agreement. He doesn't freak out about anything I put on the internet and I don't tell anything weirder than the beard brush.

It works out fine.


Blogging ebbs and flows. Sometimes I have a million ideas and a million things to say and sometimes I can't think of anything not stupid. Plus, and I don't really know how to say this, but my life is huge these days. HUGE. I have twelve hundred tons of stuff going on all the freaking time. Things have been insane lately.

Not that I'm complaining. I'm not. I love my life. It's just a lot.


I get emails and comments every day from people who read my blog and I'm grateful for all of them, even the ones in which people are really mean and rude. Because, dude. People are reading. Even if you think I'm an idiot or don't agree with me or whatever. People are listening. And that's weird for a girl who grew up never being heard. For a girl who is far to often not heard in real life.


I was sharing some of the emails I've recently received with Jason and he got the strangest look on his face.


"People are really weird about you," he said.


And I laughed. God, how I laughed.


He frowned. "No, it's just...you're just you."



I get what he means.


I also think it's weird. It scares me sometimes.

It's weird that people care what I have to say. It's weird that hundreds of people read my thoughts every day. It's bizarre that anyone cares about me and my family and even my stinky-ass dog. It's insane when I think about all the people who take time to email me. People who have never met me who comfort me in times of sadness and laugh with me in times of joy. People who send me Christmas cards and donate money to things I care about. People who send me words of encouragement. People who like me enough to ask me to write for them. Even those people who are mean to me and cut me down, but come back every single day. People who just listen to all this insane crap that comes falling out of my brain.


It's really weird sometimes.











And I'm so freaking thankful for it. For every single bit of it.

Letters.

In most relationships, I think, the responsibilities are divided up amongst the participants. I am blessed to have a husband who loves to vacuum and does more ironing than I've ever done in my entire life, ever. But we divide other things as well.

I am the letter writer. Not surprisingly, I suppose.

So, I'm struggling. Because I know what the right thing to do is, in regards to the most recent letter from my husband's mother. And I cannot. put. the. words. on. paper.


Why are the words, "I forgive you" so freaking hard to write?


I sit down and I start. I thank her for inquiring about my dad. I thank her for inquiring about my children. I thank her for her apology.


And that is as far as I can get. Then? I feel anger.

I think about all the things she said to me that were mean. I think about all the snide comments. All the hurtful things done to my children. All the times that she made it clear that she felt I wasn't good enough for her son. All the times that I was left out and excluded.

And it still hurts.

I mean, I'm a freaking grown-up. I'm an adult. People hurt me and I get over it. Such is life and people get hurt.

Big deal.

But here it is. I am hurt. And I'm having trouble getting over it.


Part of it, I know, is my own issues. Probably, to be fair, a lot of it is my own issues.

I had hope that I would find a family and become part of that family.

It didn't happen. What did happen was that I made my own family and that, thankfully, has worked out pretty well. And I can admit that I am at a point right now that I feel very sorry for Jason's mom. Our family is awesome. She's missed out on a huge amount of really fantastic stuff and she can never get that back.

It's lost.


So I want to forgive a woman who judged me unfairly and who doesn't really know me at all.



I have no idea where to start.

Since September 7th...

I've lost 8 pounds.










Excuse me while I do a little dance.