I’m re-blogging this post because its the only thing I did today. And because it makes me happy 🙂
You all know we (my family) have a cottage on a lake. I spent this summer there with my family making repairs. I also spent most of my summers there as a child with my Grandparents. It’s been in our family for a long time. It’s a great place filled with mostly great memories. My friend blogged about having trouble with her “remembory” today and it got me to thinking…
My first thought was, “Well gosh Honey, you should write down all the good stuff you want to remember. In a book, like a journal. You blog, so journaling should be something you could do.” And that got me to thinking about the cottage. Why you ask? I’ll tell you…
At the cottage we have a large box, filled with notebooks. Journals. My Grandmother started them almost from the very beginning. Every time they opened for the season she started. How the place was after the Winter. Repairs they made. How much gas was in the propane tank. What the weather was like. How far from the flagpole to the waters edge. Gossip from the neighbors. Every day, all summer, she wrote something about the days activities. Who was up. What the temp was. Interesting things they did. Year after year.
My mom starting writing in it when she got married and she and my dad went up. Guests wrote in them of their visits. I started writing in it eventually. Like a rite of passage. You can see the cycle. You can see where my Grandmother’s writing becomes shaky. Where more entries are ours than hers. You can see where my folks took over. You can see where my Dad got sick. You can see where my mom stopped coming because it hurt to bad to go without him. The following years where it was just my husband, my kids and me. A couple quick trips by my brother, another rite of passage. And this year where we all went up, including my mom. It’s the life of the place, in so many different handwritings, spread acrossed those pages. So my next thought was…
Why don’t I do that at my house? An open journal, available for anyone to write in. Sure, it would probably be just me for awhile, but I bet, just like at the cottage, eventually others will write too. Because I want to build a history at my house. I want to write about all the great things that happen. And I know from experience, you’ll be able to see the bad in the things that remain unwritten. And it will all be there. A legacy on paper. Maybe when I die my kids will keep this house and its journals. Or maybe they will hand them to the new owners and say, “These are for you. This house has a rich history. It’s seen a lot. Live in it and enjoy. And here’s a fresh Journal, so you can add to its legacy.”
Of course I’m just pretending. The view outside my own door is nothing like this. It’s cold and rainy and grey here today. There is also some Frankenstorm on it’s way, or so I hear. I didn’t sleep but just a couple hours so I’m so very tired. There are so many things I wanted to do today but I’m not sure I can stay awake to do them.
While I was busy not sleeping, I watched videos of this girl named Cassandra. She has horrible skin. Horrible. So I was very interested in how she gets that flawless finish. It was really cool to watch and I’d love to go get some of the products she used today. After much research however, I am sad to say there is NO WAY I can afford any of the things she’s using. I’m going to buy cheaper versions and see what happens. I may just have to keep being ugly.
I also wanted to go through my clothes and get rid of the things I hate. And I was hoping today I could get a trim, a wax and maybe a pedi. Guess maybe I am still dreaming….dreaming of looking like this…
I loved swimming. For real. I used to pretend I was a mermaid. I was the anti-little mermaid. I hated the world, and mostly still do, so I wanted to stay under the water, where it’s quiet and safe. I wanted to swim forever. Treading water isn’t swimming and I have treaded water for so long. I’m so very tired of it. And I did in fact forget how much I loved to swim.
I’m all grown up now. I don’t have a pool. Swimming, real swimming, doesn’t happen much for me anymore. Now, I don’t like to swim because I am no longer beautiful in the water. We have a cottage on a lake and the water scares me. It never used to. The world still scares me, always has. Where is my safe quiet place? My home is safe but not quiet. I’ll have to make my own pool. I’ll build a pool from the choices I make every day. But it’s a struggle to swim and I’m tired. Tonight though, tonight I can remember how it felt to swim. Tonight I can go to sleep and dream of a pool. And tomorrow I can build it.
I try so damn hard, most of the time. I’m striving to pull my life into something that resembles what I always dreamt of. The pieces are there, well most of them, but I can’t seem to put it all together. I spent most of my day crabby and pissed off. Over stupid shit. Things I’m not likely to remember a month from now, some a week from now. Then came the relief. The big meeting, the signing of papers, I get to keep my life. It’s safe for now. Dinner with my family to celebrate.
And then the crash. My body is no longer my own. I can’t keep mistreating it and expect it to be ok. Like many other things in life, I can’t ignore it and wait for it to take care of itself. I can’t pretend it isn’t happening or that it’s not that bad. There’s no do over. No bankruptcy for the flesh. No clean slate to start over.
So while I can’t start over, I can change. I can’t roll back time or stop the clock but I can stop making it worse. I can even make it better. I never really make myself a priority, I try, but I let other things take over. All this work, all these people that depend on me. There has to be a me to depend on. They’re better off doing without me for a little while then to be without me forever, or worse yet, to have to take care of me because I didn’t take care of myself. Right? Right.
They’ll be ok. So on this Momentous day, things are changing. Lots of things are changing. It’s all good. Even the bad stuff is good. Cause that’s life.
Do not panic, nothing sexual about this post, I promise.
I’m fascinated, in a totally non-sexual way, with penises. In particular with how incredibly soft their skin is. So I’ve been trying to google to find out how they manage to be so soft and it’s proving to be more difficult then I thought. I mean, what search words can you use to weed out all the non related things. So I guess that will remain a mystery.
I am also amazed that men don’t play with them all the time, like a toy. They make an excellent catapult. They can “dance”. For about 10 seconds they are amazingly bendable. They’re just really cool. I know The Hubs would prefer a different method of play when it comes to his penis but he’s kind enough to indulge me in my fascination. TMI? Yeah, probably. But penises are amazing and I encourage you to explore the many things that are cool about them. They are not just an object of sexual activity. They’re really top notch 🙂