00002. Two days with no sex and now my husband is currently ignoring my existence. Nevermind that I gave him a blowjob the night before last.
00002. Two days with no sex and now my husband is currently ignoring my existence. Nevermind that I gave him a blowjob the night before last.
I have been browsing online for creative writing classes. I stumbled upon the OSU-OKC website, the school I wish to go back to when I can get around to paying off my damn bill. But my finances is not the point of this post, so I digress;
LOL is it bad that my first thought reading this was, “Oh no, well, mine is more like a cautionary tale.” I snickered. Truly!
I’m working on a volume right now. It’s about some core issues I struggle with, and the book is DARK. It’s poetry full of angst, regret, and sorrow. “My summer was saturated in death and mortality.” It reflects heavily in my dark volume.
Because my next thought made me chuckle, too. “Actually, my story of my life more so reminds me of the theme song to Lemony Snicket’s Unfortunate Series of Events XD
If you are interested in stories with happy endings, then you would be better off somewhere else. In this story, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle.
My name is Lemony Snicket. It is my solemn duty to bring to light the sorry history of the Baudelaire children as it happened so many years ago.
But you in the audience have no such obligation, and I would advise all our viewers to turn away immediately and watch something more pleasant instead.
This story will be dreadful, melancholy and calamitous, a word which here means “dreadful and melancholy.” That is because not very many happy things happened in the lives of the Baudelaires.
Violet, Klaus and Sunny were intelligent children. Charming and resourceful, they had pleasant facial features, but they were extremely unlucky. Most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery and despair. I’m sorry to tell you this – but that’s how the story goes.
-Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events
There is something about writing dark material. So shameful to admit to being the author. Is it, though? So much of myself I feel I shouldn’t share… but then, the things that happen to me must surely happen to other people. I’m a wife who worries about her marriage. I’m a daughter affected by her mother’s drug abuse. I struggle with drugs. I’ve gone to therapy and should be going, still. I’m a member of the Al-Anon community on my better days.
I want to publish my dream blog about my experience with my sobriety. It’s also dark and personal. Like I said, everything I write is dark right now… it’s seeping out in my poetry and collage making. But do I have the balls to own my shit????????????
If my family ever read my dark volume, they wouldn’t be amused. I say some very hard things about my mother in particular. The book is about the despair of losing your identity.
I used to be a Native American woman. Now truthfully, I am a Mexican-Native-American. I never knew I was Mexican. Do I call myself hispanic, latino? IT’S SO FOREIGN TO ME. I reject my father’s label. My identity was different for twenty four years. My narrative was a different story without him. I never knew I was Mexican. I never learned the culture or the language. It’s going to be a weird book.
I imagined going to creative writing class and sharing my real self. I remember during the orientation for my dietitian class and one of my classmates was so remarkably honest. He said he struggled with substance abuse in the past and used his new lifestyle to commit to sobriety. I found myself wanting to share in that confession, but I could never.
Because you don’t want people to look at you sadly. They never know what to say. Their questions are annoying. I told someone during my sobriety I packed on the pounds and they unhelpfully remarked, “Oh, isn’t it the other way around? Get high on weed, get the munchies, get fat?” Well it wasn’t in my case genius way to make me feel like a failure.
I have a stupid eating problem. I have a moderate case of bulimia. I suffer from anxiety and depression. Cue this song:
And finally, one other quote reminds me of my life;
This movie gutted me. I absolutely loved it for as much as it inspired bittersweet feelings. First of all, I love Kelsey Grammar. Period. He’s an icon from my childhood and I also liked and related to the characters on Frasier since I was a nerd. My Granny and I watched the show together. Secondly, sign me up for anything with Kristen Bell.
But third and most of all, the title about Fathers is what got me. The movie is about Rachel (Bell), a girl who is getting married and her estranged father shows up at her wedding. She’s a workaholic and her fiance decides to leave her at the altar. She flees the wedding and ends up getting drunk with her dad. They end up on her honeymoon cruise ship, trapped for two weeks together.
I was instantly enthralled by the thought. It would be torture, or would it??? I clicked to watch the show and am glad that I did. It made me think about the connection with my own biological father. It made me think of both of my fathers, actually.
In the movie, Rachel says, “I’m glad you came and found me.” After twenty five years absent from her life, he randomly shows back up. They have heart warming interactions. They talk about why he left and she’s supposed to understand. Her dad was like her, dedicated to his business his whole life. At least he was a successful failure as a dad.
Some people aren’t so fucking lucky. When she said she was glad, I started to weep bitter tears. How can some people be glad to be reconnected with their estranged fathers, and I hate the fact everyday that my mother told me he is my real dad? I have such a weird mixture of feelings regarding him.
I have my mother on my shoulders. There’s not enough room for all his fuck ups and shortcomings, also. I hold him at arm’s length because I’m afraid to get attached. I don’t want him to use me. I don’t want him to have any hold over me. I can’t worry about him and invest myself in him. I am fully invested in my mother.
I read my One Day At A Time book yesterday, and I didn’t understand it altogether.
One Day at a Time
How can I not be so invested? Their problems are my identity. My inability to deal with their problems and make them better makes me somehow more of a failure as a daughter. As I type it, I see that’s ridiculous but that’s what I feel. A jagged wound inside, unable to heal my parent’s lack of love. They needed something bigger and better and I want to be the one to help them fill those holes— but I’m not enough. It’s not my job. That is so fucking hard to realize.
In the series Kimmy Schmidt the Unbreakable she talks to a picture of her Geena Davis. She picked a picture as her substitute mother. I think this all boils down to my desire to have the comforting, sensitive Frasier as a dad. When I hear his deep voice, I instantly feel a little better. He reminds me of my childhood. Is that weird or what? haha
Frasier would have been a good dad. My mom made fun of me for being well read and using my vocabulary words. Frasier would have encouraged me and admonished mom. How beneficial to have a live in therapist 🙂
I have been quite emotional lately. Just this last week, I have had two nervous breakdowns. They were two days in a row consecutively. On Tuesday, my mother came over to my house to enlist my help with some social media questions. (i.e. she’s finally getting a facebook) and help with her cell phone.
She has precious videos and pictures of my late cousin Toby on her old phone. It’s falling apart and she needs to switch devices, but the old one won’t allow her to transfer her videos due to it’s damaged state. I have tried everything I can to help her move her photos but I can’t do anything about the videos. I became very anxious with this task because I was quickly realizing I wouldn’t be able to help her. She was frustrated, and I was frustrated.
Then she mentioned my father. She has been DESPERATELY trying to get in touch with him. He is not worthy of her time and energy but what the hell, she says, “You love who you love.”
She has tried multiple methods of communicating with him. She waited 2 years for him to get out of prison, and when he got out, he promptly dropped her. He refused to return her texts and calls. He frequently got new cell phones because he was always losing one or the other. He was able to completely drop off the face of the earth as far as we were concerned for many months after his release. He chose not to contact either of us.
My mother left letters for him at his mother’s house. She begged him to give her closure. When Toby died, she wanted him to know, and even after I was the one that told him- he still didn’t call my mother. I thought that was very cruel of him, for being someone who used to claim to love her. Anybody who knows her knows she lost a son, not just a nephew. It was heartless of him not to call her, especially when he claims to be a Christian man.
I was punishing him for not talking to her. I didn’t want to talk to him. But one day out of the blue, he was back in town and wanted to visit with me. We don’t have very many opportunities to see each other so I said yes. He came and brought me lunch at work one day and we spent 30 minutes together.
I chose not to tell my mother about this encounter. It makes me uncomfortable to discuss my father with her because she immediately needs to know everything we discussed. She won’t take no for an answer and becomes quite belligerent if you’re not willing to divulge details. If I try to be vague, she pesters me for more information. It’s quite stressful, which is why I declined to mention it initially.
I always somehow put my foot in my mouth, though. I accidentally let slip about seeing him and she FLIPPED OUT ON ME. She started crying and told me how could I not mention it. She loves him so much and she doesn’t even know where he is, but I didn’t think to tell her?!?! She was so upset with me, before long, she had me sobbing hysterically.
She can still throw a mean guilt trip after all this time.
One day passes without us speaking.
On Wednesday, Jake and I had an unusual shared day off together. They are far and few between. We wasted the entire day lounging, watching TV, and fighting like the dickens. As per usual, it was about marital relations. #snooze #boring #tellmesomethingidontknow #thedword #fml #relationshipissues
Jake infuriates me when he uses the ‘D’ word. He suggests breaking up is a good idea sometimes. I privately agree with him sometimes, but I can’t imagine starting over. Or rather, I have imagined it, and I would rather not. He and I are a good pair. I don’t see the occasional squabble to be worth losing such an important connection. We eventually kissed and made up.
Read this article: These 10 Questions Could Determine if Your Relationship Will Succeed or Fail
On Thursday, I decided to give my mother a ring after work on my way home.
Me: Hey Momma, what are you up to?
Mom: I’m just watching TV
Me: Oh, okay. Who are you hanging out with?
Mom: Your dad
Me: …. Which dad? My first dad or my other dad?
Mom: The one you resemble
Me: How long has he been over there?
Mom: Johnny… how long have you been over here? 2 days? 3?
Me: …. I’m surprised you didn’t mention that. It’s only been 1 day since I talked to you. He’s been staying there this whole time and you didn’t think to tell me? You know I’ve been feeling guilty about how I didn’t mention him to you.
Her: *laughs snidely at me* Okayyy…..
Me: Well, I’m glad he’s there.
Mom: Johnny, she’s glad you’re here.
Him, phone background: Hey sweetie!
Me: Hey. I’ve gotta be going. Have a good night.
THAT NONCHALANT BITCH
My mother recently called me and informed me that one of her closest friends had committed suicide. She found out the day after it happened- just after the Fourth of July. We will call my mom’s friend Shirley* to protect her identity. A family friend called my mother and told her what happened.
Shirley and her family went to a party to celebrate the Fourth. Shirley was happily married with a son about to be married. His fiance was a blonde girl with two mixed children, a little girl and a little boy. They all lived together at Shirley’s house and the daughter followed Shirley around like a shadow.
It turned out to be a shadow that haunted her. Shirley lost a child twenty years ago. She had cared for and utterly adored a special needs little girl for eight years of her life before she regrettably passed. They say that she had been speaking about her deceased daughter more often lately. She was going through menopause and her mother said she suffered from depression.
Even so, no one expected what happened from her. There was an altercation between Shirley and another woman and they left the party. Everyone went back home. Shirley said she had to go to the bathroom, and asked the little daughter to stay in the living room with everyone else, she’d be right back.
She went down the hall to their bedroom. She collected a shotgun her son had gifted her and wordlessly carried it with her to the bathroom. No one noticed anything until they heard the shot.
Her body fell against the door. Her son had to hack at the door and break it to get to his mother. There was nothing they could do, no help to get. She was gone. Her mother-in-law and sister-in-law came to clean up the mess. Everyone was shocked and grief stricken.
My mother said it didn’t sound like her, she couldn’t believe it. I caught my mother in the throes of denial. She half way wondered if there could have been foul play. It was so utterly unlike Shirley to do this to her family. Her son was supposed to be wed the very next month. The family friend said that her husband was in shock and that her son was angry beyond belief. Who could blame him? My mother insightfully said, “But you know what? Being mad at her is probably what’s going to be what gets him through this.”
When we went to the Celebration for Her Life, I was touched by the amount of people gathered. There were well over a hundred people there. Her death touched so many people. Suicide robs everyone of you. It is so horrible. I know no one knows the pain she was in, but to see all her loved ones gathered makes you think about how you can’t take them for granted.
That’s what I was thinking as I sat next to my mother and squeezed her hand. But even as tears dripped down my face, they weren’t for Shirley. I was secretly terrified the same thing could happen to my own mother. She lost her son. What if she broke one day, too?
Afterwards in the card, I even told her, “Don’t you dare ever do this to me.”
My summer has been saturated in death and mortality. So many griefs and shocks. My cousin passed away. We found out my Grandpa has cancer. My mother has been pressuring me to talk to my dad for her and I can’t bear the rejection of him not speaking to me. He can ignore her all he wants, but God forbid I try and he doesn’t. The fear of rejection is strong. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that.
My birthday was an affair to remember. The week leading up to it I was a bundle of raw nerves. All I could anticipate was based on past experience and generally my birthdays include crying at some point. Not Happy Tears. I lived in fear of my husband’s temper and belittling attitude and cried in dread of the day. I cried to my mother that I didn’t want to be alone with him because he’s so insensitive and I can be so fucking fragile.
Doesn’t sound like a happy marriage, does it? I have always struggled to get the respect I deserve. I actually specifically asked my husband to be nice to me on my birthday. I just said he always found a reason to yell at me on that day and it would be nice if he didn’t this year. He miraculously didn’t. He loves me, I know he was trying. I guess he actually listened for once.
After the debacle that was my birthday, we had another hurdle to jump as a family. Or so I thought. Toby’s birthday came so shortly after his passing, but we were all supposed to spend it together. It wouldn’t turn out that way.
On his birthday, I called my uncle and he informed me that my mother wasn’t invited anymore. His wife struggled with drug addiction in the past and now she had been found out again. She relapsed and blamed it on my mother. Yes, my mother had a part in it. But she was to blame also for imploding the family dynamic.
Now relationships are strained and we still haven’t all agreed to be in person yet. My mother and aunt had been healing old wounds before. My mother used to hate my aunt more than anyone and they were becoming friends over my cousin’s illness. Now that has been ruined again. My uncle is barely speaking to my mother. Rightfully so.
In tandem with this secret family drama, there is other family drama afoot. My Grandpa has the misfortune of getting diagnosed with cancer shortly after admitting to a life of lies with his wife.
My Grandpa cheated on her. She was willing to forgive him. Then she found out that some family members such as my mother were involved, and now my mother is a trigger in their relationship and she won’t let my Grandpa speak to my mother. He told my mother not to call or text him, he’d get in touch with her. It is heartbreaking what this woman is doing. He’s fucking dying and she’s cutting him off from his family. Her final, bitter revenge for ruining her life with a faithless man.
She’s right to be upset, but there’s a limit. They are bound to separate, it seems. She has been one of my Grandpa’s longest relationships. But he needs his family, and they need him, too. Everyone hates her even though Grandpa is the one that cheated. We live in a topsy turvy world.
To put the cherry on top, I finally had the courage to call an intervention helpline for my mother’s sake and was immediately discouraged. How could we ever pay for rehab? The answer is we can’t. I have to look harder for the answer but I feel so afraid. What if it doesn’t help? She doesn’t sound willing to go. So much effort in a doomed pursuit. I don’t know if I have it in me, and that makes me feel ashamed.
Welcome to my life.
I read some advice recently online about eating disorders. I’ve been avoiding doing the task they set before me. You make a list of your roles, and what you are doing to further those roles right now. Then, you make a list of how you can improve those roles. It’s an exercise to see where your disappointments lay- you are supposed to recognize the areas of your life that need work and start focusing accordingly.
Things I Do Now: Calling my mother everyday, skipping out of work early one day a week to spend time with mom, spending days off with her
What I envision: Call her every day, spend occasional off days with her, go over to her house more often i.e. visits after work, perform an intervention for her, help her to get a job
Things I Do Now: Barely anything, only focus on my mother.
What I envision: Once a month meetings with Joe’s family, summer plans with extended family, getting to see Rob over the summer, call my aunt rob and Grandpa more often, call Joe and Austin more often, go over to Joe’s house with Jake for fight nights, float the river family trip, go on summer trip with Jake’s family, spend more time with Jake’s cousin Korey and his wife, visit my Grandpa at work randomly and take him snacks
Things I Do Now: Masturbating, writing, working on art project, browsing social media websites, overeating, binging and purging
What I envision: Go outside more often, go to parks more often, visit the Memorial more often, go places on my days off, work out, lose weight, control eating habits, go to therapy, get myriad of medical issues checked out
Things I Do Now: Carry a medicine bag, listen to A Tribe Called Red, listen to Native American drums and flutes, smudging the house, praying outside under the sky
What I envision: Going to powwow every year, listening to Medicine Men chanting/DELTA wave music to relax recreationally around the house, praying and smudging more often, learn Spanish
Things I Do Now: Non confrontational, lazy, unfocused, half assed
What I envision: Well organized, smaller department, becoming Front Office Manager of a Residence Inn, Springhill Suites, other limited service Marriott hotel, ultimately ending up a writer (short novel or magazine editor), become the next JK Rowling, have to spend a lot more time invested in my writing
Things I Do Now: Withhold sex, always admit I am wrong and he is right, let him have his way even when he’s being a brat, let him treat me like shit, not close intimately, doesn’t want to hear my inner most thoughts, uncaring of my feelings, controlling, posessive
What I envision: Him settling with a lesser sex life than he wants, him treating me with respect and love, him being emotionally present in the relationship, eating meals at a kitchen table without TV or computer, just talking. More adventurous sex. More willingness to take me on dates and say nice things to me. Touches me involuntarily. More opportunities to dress up, double dates, making friends. More open minded, less neurosis.
Things I Do Now: Nothing
What I envision: Save money for a house, quit drugs to pass inspections to get foster kids, lose weight to have a biological kid, convince husband to get his vasectomy reversed, get a better job to afford kids, work a 9-5 job for kids
Things I Do Now: Call Katie every time I have a freak out
What I envision: Monthly meetings with Christina and Katie, more whenever meetings with Katie, call Katie just to check up on HER, call Elizabeth and Veronica more often, get back in touch with Melanie, wine and paint parties, exercise budy with Sara, become friends with Whitney and Leslie
Things I Do Now: 12 Step Al-Anon work
What I envision: Going to al-anon meetings, finding a sponsor, completing the steps, feeling better about myself, cope with my emotions better
I mention this because I have been contemplating My List Inspired by My Name is Earl. I have a whole subsection of my list that deals with cheating on various individuals. Plus, cheating is an interesting topic in my family.
My Grandpa is a chronic philanderer. My aunt was a serial cheater. My uncle cheated, also. My other uncle slept with married women. My mother sleeps with a married man. My mother cheated on my dad. My dad cheated on my mother. It’s a morally gray area in our family. My Granny was the best person who ever lived, but miraculously enough the person I love most next is the person who hurt her the most. What a bizarre turn of events for our family. My friends have often said that my life could be a soap opera.
I don’t think cheating is okay. I did it, though. The first time I cheated, I cheated on a crush with my ex. We were dating verging on girlfriend-boyfriend material when I signed that relationship’s death warrant by sleeping with my ex whom I was still radically in love with at the time.
The person I feel the worst about cheating on though is not him. It’s Hakim. He was the most stable relationship I ever had in my life. We didn’t have to see each other or talk everyday. I wasn’t addicted to weed back then. Things were just starting to get bad with my mom back then.
I cheated on Hakim because he had a spectacular cock he would not share with me. At the time I didn’t understand, but now I do- he was depressed. His libido was in the dumps. He often had existential crises. I feel so stupid that I didn’t see it, then. I didn’t appreciate him for the gentle soul he was. We were kindred spirits but I could only think with my clit. I wasn’t getting the attention I wanted- so I went out and found it elsewhere.
The first person I cheated on him with was my ex. I knew my ex had smoke and knew how to touch me like I craved. So I went to him again, a couple of different times. I wasn’t in love with my ex anymore by this point- we had become the best of friends with benefits. We fucked but we never kissed anymore.
The next time was a random stranger. We saw each other regularly since he worked at the store around the corner from my mother’s house. He liked me, I liked him. He had a girlfriend and a baby, and I didn’t care to learn their names. He likewise wasn’t interested in knowing me. We just groped in the car and store sometimes until it all culminated one night.
We had a quickie behind my mother’s house in her apartment. We fumbled around in the dark until he came and left me feeling unsatisfied. He suddenly remembered he had someplace to be and what’s worse was I was his ride. I never saw him again after that.
But I did see the neighbor boy Daniel, back from over seas. He drunkenly invited me over to his house in the middle of the night later that night. He never knew that I had been with someone that same night- we did it in his den, the room we grew up playing together in as kids at his house. He struggled to keep his tiny dick up and ended up fingering me to completion. It was our second and last time together, first time sober.
The fourth person was my best friend. Our relationship heated up and it was impossible to deny the mutual attraction any longer. It didn’t feel wrong because I loved her so much. He liked her, too. Never suspected a thing, and didn’t hold it against me when I admitted I had feelings for her. He still sought me out later on down the line despite knowing I had emotionally cheated on him. I did not outright admit that I cheated physically.
I read this article about cheating. It’s hard to find articles from the other side- the person who cheated and feels guilty. It made a lot of stupid points in my opinion. “Recognize that the bad person who did this deed, also does good things for you. Recognize that while you did wrong the person you cheated on, they got something out of you cheating on them.”
For example, I cheated on Hakim and broke up with him. He had other opportunities to find a girl who wouldn’t cheat on him and who would understand him better by not being with me. He’s a fool for never knowing how bad I was- Am I bad a person for never admitting the truth?
In Al-Anon, the steps say:
Made direct amends to [people we have harmed] wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others
To even dream of coming clean to Hakim is impossible to think. This is surely what cases like this were made for- revealing that you cheated is selfish! haha~!
Is it, though? Am I as bad as the rest of my family?
Are things better when people don’t know? If a tree falls with no around to hear, does it make a sound? If you got away with it, and they were none the wiser, how is revealing your short comings supposed to make them feel better? Or me?
I guess some people think, “They deserve to know.” But knowing sure is ugly. It ripped my Grandma apart. I will never forget the time she informed me she tried to get medical benefits through her husband’s job, and he had listed himself as a single man. I can still remember the hurt look on her face.
My Aunt has done a fine good job of telling people her misdeeds. It is no wonder her husband finally went cuckoo. As I said, she is a serial cheater and has had many relationships outside her marriage in the past years. She is quite frankly a sensual and down to earth woman. Most people would call her a whore but I was settle for promiscuous. I admired her sometimes, she talked to me like a friend. She liked trading bawdy stories back and forth about our conquests. Her children knew all about her relationships and called them Uncle. Her boyfriends dined at their dinner table with the whole family, under the guise of a family friend. One time Rob told me about a time her husband asked her, “But won’t they all know?”
You mean how we HAVE KNOWN FOR YEARS?
The humiliation, I cannot imagine. I find it difficult to imagine a scenario in which I could be like Hillary and accept Bill Clinton’s actions. I know it was a terrible thing for me to do, but I was being young and free. I wasn’t the one who was married. Cheating before marriage is somehow less worse. I was having fun, being young, wild, and free.
Short term lesson: Short flings are more acceptable form of cheating, whereas drawn out emotional relationships with another person are particularly damaging. I saw an article recently on the web that talked about that- how women are in fact less angry about cheating that is just about sex than about EMOTIONAL cheating with another woman.
I have to think about these things because my life is weird. I chose an unusual member of society to marry. I have dated more than just one man that has had threesomes before. My husband happens to be one of them. He was in a poly-amorous relationship in his twenties for a while. He dated and lived with two women simultaneously. They were a thrupple.
noun. a three-way sexual relationship with three partners.
-“When two just isn’t enough!”
My husband has expressed a desire to follow this life style again. He feels dissatisfied with our sex life for a couple of different reasons. Some of his reasons aren’t so stupid, though. He insists that he knows I want to be with a woman. I can’t lie and say that’s not true.
He has found someone that he desires, and he’s asked if I want to meet her. But this is ALL WRONG for me. Not the thrupple- I am actually not too horribly against the idea of adding a third person to the relationship. It’s just that Jacob and I have different visions.
First of all, I would rather be the one to pick the person. I want someone who is ideally more interested in me than my husband. I’d rather him be an accessory piece to any lesbian action. I’d prefer him not to fuck or kiss her. He can do things with me- which makes me suspect that I am truly too jealous in nature to allow a sister wife.
I will be the first to admit I am insecure.
“All I told them is everything they wanted to know!”
I don’t want anyone to take my husband from me. I don’t want him to be interested in anyone else just yet. I thought we could go years before we would have to add a third person.
I want us to have a solid foundation. And at this time, we just don’t. I don’t have the confidence in our relationship and his treatment of me to allow him a sister wife. If he treated me more respectfully, perhaps we could bargain in some way, but he hasn’t shown that side of himself in quite some time.
I’m not a PRUDE! I wanted to live polyamorously with my bff. I loved her and my first boyfriend equally, but she wasn’t down for him in any way. She was all about me. The thrupple that I am seeking is different than this domestic vibe my husband is trying to coin.
I want a third person to make our lives more exciting! I expect with two of us, I could force Jake to do much more fun and adventurous things. We would go on dates together. But I don’t want her to live with us- I imagine this radically ideal free-loving spirit kind of woman. I’m not saying she’s a slut, just that she loves who feels right. My husband does not like the idea of her not being beholden to us, though. I want something more casual to start out and he wants like this big commitment right away. We’re not seeing eye to eye. Well, in most ways. We both want me to have a girlfriend, lol.
The Good Place’s latest episode is titled “Best Self”. In order to get to the Good Place, they had to be the best version of themselves in order to board the golden hot air balloon. Would you pass this test?
I’m a work in progress. Have I hit my best self, or has it been all downhill from some point? Have I hit my zenith? I suspect not. Great things linger in me, I am yet to achieve some of my better successes. Don’t count me down and out yet, I am merely biding my time on the sidelines.
My Hell on Earth would be trapped in a sea world aquarium. Another thought I had was stranded at the beach on a cold, overcast day.
But what is Heaven?
Me, with a baby/toddler on my hip, smile on my face.