It's tiring, and lonely being the homecoming queen.

Sigh.
So. Here I am. Rockstar that I am! <Flips hair>  sigh again. <sinks down>
It's not easy being the "homecoming queen". Being "popular". Everyone loves you! Everyone looks up to you! Awesome! Sort of.
I'm not entirely sure WHY people like me. Is it because I help them unleash the inner "them". Are they living vicariously through my exploits? My apparent sexual freedom? LOL. I have to laugh.
I have always had this "Wild Child", "Earth Mother" "HIPPIE" sort of image. I recall a friend of mine was upset to find out my total man count was six.
Six.
That's all??! She lamented.
What? I'm sorry. Wasn't that enough? Did you think I was a <gasp! Don't say the word! You're gonna say it, aren't you? Yes.> SLUT?
"Well, no, I just thought,... you were so free... I thought..."
I'd have "more" somehow, huh? Me too!! Who knew? Who knew I was so fussy?
But besides sex, there is this other issue of fairy glamour. Men, and women, let's be fair, who want me. Ready to grab a ticket and stand in line to wait. No vanity here. Ask anyone. This happens to me. It's a blessing, and a curse!!  Truly. I can't help it. I know I have this "superpower" and sometimes I turn it on on purpose, but most of the time, no, I don't and I can't help but gather devotees, followers, lovers, and others. LOL.
Sounds so fat headed, I know. But you'd have to be me to understand!!
And I love it. And it wears me out. I feel sorry for the people who love me sometimes. I suffer from PMDD. A severe mood disorder regulated around my feminine cycle. Ahem. Yes, ladies don't ... talk about it... but, oh, I'm no lady. Ahem. <COUGH COUGH COUGH!>
Yeah, whatever. Look it up.
So! Back to fairy glamour. I get to know someone, and then suddenly, they are looking at me with stupid eyes, sparkled with fairy dust, they love me. WHY??!! What the ...?! Dammit. I'm sorry. If I've done it to you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just ... love other people. I really do. And even though it doesn't happen, I'm just sure that this love is just sugar glass, about to crack apart and shatter and be thrown away. So I flit away, leading my poor bedazzled ones away.... and I don't mean to.
I love when I do a show and everyone wants to see me, touch me, talk to me as a real person and not the character, but I don't know what to do with people who like the real me. Really? Are you sure? Can I change your mind? I'm so contrary, so ... incidentally evil... I don't mean to be, really. Like a cat. I stretch out my paw, lovingly touching one moment, with claws the next. Even when I don't I expect the lap dump, the swat, the yelling....
Sigh.
I'm sorry for those in love with me. I'm so imperfect. I can't possibly love them like they deserve to be loved. And yet they love me. Ow. Dammit. I'm trying.
(offstage voice) "Clap louder, or Tinkerbell will die!!"
I'm clapping, I'm clapping!!!

God's child

So I was out walking in the crisp winter air and it just felt so good. I felt like a little kid with a new pair of boots. I had an image, a mental flash if you will, of how, well, I was after all, God's child, and this is his beautiful day so I said thank you. In my head, he smiled and asked me how I was doing today. I thought about it for a second or two and said, "I'm doing great, thanks Lord."
I thought too about my eventual arrival in heaven, home, and God helping me out of my wintery gear, like a mother helps her child unbundle, smiling at my flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
I thought how he/she might ask me how I was doing, what I was thinking, and I thought, wow, life was a real trip! So much stuff to see and do and feel and experience. So many people to love.  But there was so much pain and suffering too, it hurt my heart and that that must be the difference between heaven and earth. On earth we all suffer the uncertainty of wondering if we matter, if we are loved, if anyone cares, if we belong. In heaven, we know we do.

Patchwork Heart

 I often feel I have a "patchwork" heart, from trading little pieces of it with people who have passed away to the great beyond. But, they took a little piece of me to heaven with them,and sometimes, when I'm very still, I can feel that holy, holy love healing the stitches of the piece they gave me back. Love simply cannot be felt fully without some pain to go with it. Much like childbirth, there is terrible, terrible pain, you think you cannot survive, when you are sure at moments you are going to die, but you know, even through the mind rending pain, there is joy, and love. When we love someone so much and they leave us, especially the ones who leave us for the next world, we feel that missing piece of our heart that was once beating in sync, stumble, beat out of rhythm. It makes us breathless, and sure we cannot go on, then, suddenly, one day, we can. We can remember all the love we shared and be comforted instead of saddened. 
 There is joy, and when the "stitches" heal, there is more joy. There is love. Go ahead and let it hurt, and know at the end, there is more love, and more joy. 

Why I don't like to drink beer

I imagine that isn't entirely true. I have had my share of beer, mostly because it was what was available, but I don't particularly care for it. I can't appreciate the variances in taste, or color, or "body", (whatever the hell that means.)
I've never really been a wine drinker either. Tried to develop a taste for it, but meh. So much of it is dry, and bitter and just so unpleasant, it just never caught on with me.  I've always preferred the fruity "girl drinks". Things with fruit skewered on plastic swords, or little umbrellas, or hey, why not both? And in a coconut cup while we're at it!
I also am a bit like the men who go to the bar in Potterville, where they serve hard liquor for men who like to get drunk fast. Vodka on diet coke works just fine.
But what I LIKE to drink isn't what this is about, This is a little tale I recall from my childhood that made me a bit of a snob when it comes to ones choice of alcoholic beverage.

I was living with my Fat Aunts in the south. I say that like a title, because it will be one day. When I was a kid, all but one or two of my aunts was heavy. Big strong women, pull plow when horse gets tired! Good Irish stock. Tall too, most of them.
 But anyway, I must have been around 10 or 11 and my Aunt gets a call from her wayward daughter. Her only daughter, who had dropped out of high school, had two babies before she figured out what caused that, and lived a wild and rowdy lifestyle of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Well. At least sex and drugs.
My wild cousin had woken up alone in a distant hotel room with no money and no means of transportation and needed rescue.
Now, leaving the farm for any reason was a thrill, since it didn't happen too much. Especially in the summer. Mamaw was going to town? We all wanted to go too! Who knew, she might go through the bank and we'd get suckers, or a candy bar from a gas station or something!
So my cousins, three of them, stair step ages downward from my own by two years each tumbled into the back of her giant Ford station wagon. All of us barefoot and dirty from running around in the freedom of a summer 20 miles out of town on a dirt road in Mississippi.
We pulled into a hotel parking lot and were disappointed to find out we had to wait in the car, and we whined a little bit til Auntie gave us the eyes that said her shoe was about to find our asses and we settled down to wait.
She went in and about 10-15 minutes later, (FOREVER!) she came out with my cousin in tow, and the sun shined down on her in a harsh, unforgiving light.
You could see a good inch and half of dark brown hair roots creating a break in the brassy, nearly broken blond hair, straggled as straw, her heavy, stretched marked breasts hanging low in her overstretched, soiled tube top that showed an unattractive expanse of flabby, stretch marked belly hanging over her unbuttoned, cut off daisy duke shorts. Home made of course, and cut so short the pockets showed.
Her bare feet were dirty almost to her knees with mud, dirt and some bruises as well. She carried a pair of wooden platform sandals with long leather laces over her shoulder and her face looked puffy and pale and like it might slide off at any moment.
Like an over-eager pup pack we welcomed her and asked her questions in a jumble to which she turned around to look at us in the back seat, her face scrunched with annoyance and probably a wholloping headache and belched out, "Shut the hell up!" in her beery voice.
I thought in that moment. I'm never gonna drink beer.

I am so beautiful. I am funny, and smart and HOT. I love my body. I love my big, soft, warm, squishy boobies. Stretch marks and all. I love them. I love my belly. I love my belly button. Two kids and a surgery have shaped it into the cutest belly button EVAH!  Mmmmm. I love me. I am so curvy! My waist is a foot smaller than my generous hips, and the skin over them, while marked with age and growth, is wonderful. It's soft and warm and inviting. My hips have just enough fat over them to GRIP onto. Mmmmm. Reminded of a Maroon 5 song, "Sink in my fingertips, into every inch of you, because I know that's what you want me to do.." . Yes! Sink in your fingertips. Hang on! It's gonna be a wild ride. Every time. I am AWESOME. Beautiful. Lovely. Gorgeous. And if no one but me thinks so? Well then, so be it. But I think how I feel leaks out. It's amazing. I wish I could go back in time and tell my teen self, you love your body. You think it's great, and so does everyone who has ever had the pleasure of seeing or touching it. Ahhhhh. Yes. Yes. Yes. Love yourself ladies. You are awesome and beautiful.

How do I describe perimenopause? A very bad place. It makes you a stranger to yourself. You find yourself thinking and feeling things you never thought you would. 

You consider eating your young, and are there recipes on your favorite site for that? 

You'd gladly kill and eat your mate. Why? He is there. Breathing. In and out, in and out, ENOUGH already!! Damn. and what is that smell? Uh. everything irritates the hell out of you. 

Including yourself. 

sigh. 

You can't sleep. You're always sweaty and hot. You're hungry, but no, you're having stomach trouble. Is your period there AGAIN? Already? Didn't I just do this last month?  You surely don't want any more children, you're almost to the finish line with the ones you have, and you might be interested in sex, except it creates those strangers who keep eating your food, taking your money and chipping away at your wallet and self esteem. Screw that. I can masturbate. Or I could. If I gave a shit. I have sexual thoughts, and feelings. They come intermittently and at odd moments. You'd totally do the phone repair man if he embraced you right NOW. Oops. Missed it. Two seconds went by. Oh. You could have sex with your partner. While you're miles apart and wont see each other for another 8 hours. Oops. Time passed. Not interested. Sometimes you even try to masturbate and just stop because you're not feeling it. Sigh. 

Bored even with yourself. (Slaps crotch) HELLO?! IS THIS THING ON?  Oh, wait, yes, there.. oh, no. No. I was wrong. Nevermind. 

Thrrrppp. You make grand plans to get things done and you end up getting all prepared, dressed, music, cold drink, told facebook, aka - the world you were going to do it. Annnnnnd...just get so overwhelmed you go take a nap. 

You get mad for no reason. Or for good reasons where anger isn't helpful. Or for any reason at all. Curse the world!! Damn fate! The universe. 

See; get overwhelmed and take nap. 

Then there are the aches and pains. Ow. Dammit. You had no idea you could hurt so much in spots you didn't even know you had! How unfair is that? Ugh. And what is it? Is it simply arthritis? Lack of activity? (You sure FEEL active, at least, at work) or bone cancer?! So achey. So tired. Oh no...it's...THE NAP again!! Do we become both teenagers AND toddlers in our midlife?? SO dramatic and moody AND need a nap? At least we are adult enough to take one. Hmph. Sigh again.  

I get angry because I had no idea. No one really talks about what menopause is like, except in bad jokes, and I'm starting to get them. Ha ha ha ... shut the hell up.  It makes you mean. I don't like it. 

I remember when I had Amy, and was bowlegged for two days. I was pissed because NONE of my birthing books covered that feeling. No one said anything like, you'll feel like you've been riding a horse for two days straight, naked. 

And I'm kind of pissed that no one told me how I'd feel when I was midlife.  How it's like being an adolescent all over again. The feeling that you know nothing, and everything you've ever known was just bullshit. You knew there was no Santa. But you didn't want to believe that!  No! Not so! 

I''m sorry. Sorry to everyone who has to go through it with me. Especially my children. I'm sorry Mommy is crazy. She just can't help herself, you see... she's.. human. 

I've had so many thoughts tonight about things I want to talk about. Men as warriors. What got me started was Mrs. Romney talking about "letting" her husband work. LOL! And why I married my dad.
Then I also thought about women's issues. Abortion, equal pay, stay at home moms and their worth. Wow. Where do I start about that?
About being Christian. How so many of my friends feel so threatened by it, when I don't feel I've changed that much, I've just declared something out loud.
SO many things, so many thoughts. So much at once. I need a tape recorder so I can catch this all while I"m thinking of it!