I had this blog post started the other day that was questioning why I feel the need to fight or run when hard times present themselves and I was going to write about why I can’t be as strong as people think I am and perceive me to be but then like my previous post, I got the fuck over it. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of wondering why I am the way I am. I know I’m supposed to understand my past to understand my future, but why the fuck can’t I live in the moment? That’s all I believe in anymore. That’s all I trust. Because of my father’s death I don’t believe in futures. Because of my mistakes I don’t believe in the past. I’m kind of tired of being the Debbie Downer but also tired of being the drunk life of the party. (Not that I ever was). I’m just tired of being something for everyone else: sober, a lady, debt free at 36, a perfect mother.
You know what I love? Throwing my head back laughing, dancing in puddles and in my kitchen, rolling my eyes at bad jokes, eating what I want and not worrying about gaining weight, teaching my children how to run through sprinklers the right ways, ice cream after dinners, crying my eyes out at the saddest movies. I don’t want my kids to think having a successful life is about the job that makes you the most money, the partner that makes you look good. I want to teach them both are about what makes you happy and makes you want to wake up the next day.
And I drank Thursday night. Two beers. See? I’m not perfect.
And since ex-man didn’t want me I think it’s time I find someone that might. I’ll begin dating again.
“To the wrong guy you might not be the right girl but to the right guy you’ll be the right girl.”