...a new template design. The little box popped up when I signed on and I thought, "That's what I need. A new template design."
Looked at the bio a minute ago. WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE? I am one, ONE, one hair away from a textbook meltdown. Y'all...next year I will be 55 years old. Fifty-five. I read something the other day that asked, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" and my immediate reaction was, "Twenty."
Damn. I've lost 34 years.
I never finished my graduate degree. Had a baby after five years of trying, instead. Got ready to go back to school again and (after nearly 30 years of unprotected sex) had another baby. Gave up and stopped signing my name to applications because apparently, that's what gets me pregnant ;)
So now here I sit. This year my children will be 30, 15 and 10. Next year will be the first time in 30 years I haven't driven a child to and from some sort of school. I can be anything I want to be.
That does NOT include 55 years old. I am FURIOUS. This is so not FAIR! But then I get out the big girl panties and suck it up and move through another day and then...it hits me again. The Big Boy irritates me every time he takes a breath. He can't DO anything...he doesn't build or ski or paint or read. He doesn't like to eat out or travel. Having said that? He never DID, so the problem is me. Has to be.
Looking at it rationally, I have nine months, which is very significant. Nine months until this school year is out, ten months until The Nice Kid gets her license and is a willing chauffeur. And then I can be anything I want to be. As long as it doesn't cost anything (there's that two-kids-left-to-raise thing) and there's no age requirement and I can still be on-call because they ARE still kids and I HAVE THE BALLS TO VENTURE OUT.
So here I sit, feeling all sorry for myself and whining because I'm drinking $5 wine every night instead of $40 stuff (that I wouldn't know was better) and mad because I don't have a house keeper twice a week and irritated because there's not a flat screen in the other den and my bedroom. And I click on Queen Mediocretia because she makes me laugh, and then God clicked on this. And I cried until I couldn't breathe and then laughed until I couldn't breathe again.
My God believes in a good swift kick to the ass when merited.
I want this fixed? I better get out the toolbox.
Or at least another template ;)
Looked at the bio a minute ago. WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE? I am one, ONE, one hair away from a textbook meltdown. Y'all...next year I will be 55 years old. Fifty-five. I read something the other day that asked, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" and my immediate reaction was, "Twenty."
Damn. I've lost 34 years.
I never finished my graduate degree. Had a baby after five years of trying, instead. Got ready to go back to school again and (after nearly 30 years of unprotected sex) had another baby. Gave up and stopped signing my name to applications because apparently, that's what gets me pregnant ;)
So now here I sit. This year my children will be 30, 15 and 10. Next year will be the first time in 30 years I haven't driven a child to and from some sort of school. I can be anything I want to be.
That does NOT include 55 years old. I am FURIOUS. This is so not FAIR! But then I get out the big girl panties and suck it up and move through another day and then...it hits me again. The Big Boy irritates me every time he takes a breath. He can't DO anything...he doesn't build or ski or paint or read. He doesn't like to eat out or travel. Having said that? He never DID, so the problem is me. Has to be.
Looking at it rationally, I have nine months, which is very significant. Nine months until this school year is out, ten months until The Nice Kid gets her license and is a willing chauffeur. And then I can be anything I want to be. As long as it doesn't cost anything (there's that two-kids-left-to-raise thing) and there's no age requirement and I can still be on-call because they ARE still kids and I HAVE THE BALLS TO VENTURE OUT.
So here I sit, feeling all sorry for myself and whining because I'm drinking $5 wine every night instead of $40 stuff (that I wouldn't know was better) and mad because I don't have a house keeper twice a week and irritated because there's not a flat screen in the other den and my bedroom. And I click on Queen Mediocretia because she makes me laugh, and then God clicked on this. And I cried until I couldn't breathe and then laughed until I couldn't breathe again.
My God believes in a good swift kick to the ass when merited.
I want this fixed? I better get out the toolbox.
Or at least another template ;)
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