Dear Fucking Diary! Today I found out I am out of practice at being a lady! I wore high lady boots to keep out of the very ungenteel puddles that keep getting left around everywhere and now my feet hurt. I have one pair of underwear left that is not in disgraceful whore-tatters and that I would not feel totally embarrassed about wearing in front of a new paramour, so I wore those out tonight just for fun! Was I on a date with myself? I might have been. Perhaps I should write empowering articles for Oprahmedia. The underwears were DIGGING IN and now I have red welts on my hipbones. My fishnets had runs and my coat kept flying open. But I was pretty happy anyway.
Today I like fog cutters, which in this instance is a gimlet with some homemade ginger beer added. I have outrage fatigue and am over snark. I do not like my mother, who was given my address by my stupid ex-husband, and came over to my house, unwanted and unbidden. It is unmannerly to be uninvited and to show up like that after 5+ years. Thinking that that kind of shit is okay is also affirmation of why I don’t speak to her anymore. My father told me he STILL has nightmares about her sometimes. I believe it.
This week I am learning about denial, and how it can lead to castigation of others rather than self-examination. I don’t want to hear about the grieving processes of those who feel I’ve wronged them, when it was right for me to get away from them. I feel like I learn about this over and over again. I am also feeling grateful for people I know who actively grieve about things and move on. VERY grateful.
In other words, universe, behave yourself. I am trying to behave. It’s one skip forward and two smacks back.