Today is my forty-third birthday.
My Beloved bought me a house.
Ain't that swell?
We haven't moved in yet due to the fact that we are painting, painting, painting. We also have carpet to rip up. It's beautiful carpet, in most of the house anyway. However, underneath that silver/grey carpet lurks...
beautiful, original, hard wood floors!
My brother-in-law's mouth fell open when he saw them. He's a construction guy. He knows his stuff. So when we pulled up corners of carpeting he looked at Beloved, his little bro', and said, "You realize that you are not only getting hardwood floors, but you've just increased the value of your home by several thousand dollars."
They are the original floors, laid in 1960, that have never seen the light of day. There were no pets in the house. We may really have hit the jackpot here.
But even with all the wonderful things about our little green house, there are still those who have been Negative Nelly. FIL, for one. He's made comments such as,
"Now you'll know what work is..."
"You're going to have a problem with that..."
"Boy, have you got your work cut out for you..."
Yeah, cause we haven't worked our butts off on his stupid farm for the last fifteen years.
We didn't remodel his bathroom.
We didn't sheet rock the ceiling in his house.
Or build a couple of extra rooms.
Or deal with his ANT problem.
Or his septic issues.
Or his well issues.
He's right, we have no idea what we are in for.
Snicker.
One thing I have noticed, neither Beloved or I are cranky about the work we've done thus far. It's been hard work but so rewarding.
All because it's OUR home.
So, Mr. Negative Nelly, take your bad attitude home to your farm. Feed your cows. Mow your lawn. Take care of your own business.
And we'll take care of ours.
Showing posts with label FIL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FIL. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
I'll Miss You...NOT!
I am a bad blogger. It's been...well, it's been many days since my last post. Hey folks, I'm busy packing! I'm busy working! I'm busy trying to keep some order in the chaos that has become our life. Except for Girl...who is bored.
But that's another story.
One week from today we receive keys.
HOUSE!
From that point on it will be a mad dash to complete things over there and get things wrapped up over here.
HOUSE!
Many folks have been asking how FIL is taking the big move, to which I reply he seems to be taking it in stride. I don't bother them with the detail that I don't think he realizes how different things will be for him. No one will be here to bring him fresh baked cookies. There will be no one to walk the fence line for him. No one to chase his cutie little (if you call 250 lbs, little) black calf back into the pasture.
Who will let him in when he forgets his keys?
Who will listen to him rant and rave about his doctor, insurance company, phone company, idiot drivers, idiot neighbors, idiot family members, golf game, computer game, and the best buys of the week at the grocery store?
No one will be here to listen to him "golf" as he practices his pitching in the living room.
No one will hear him when he has a leg cramp at 2:30 am and he's pacing up and down the hall for half an hour.
And as our departure date draws near, I feel...I feel a little sad for that great big pain in my neck. But it's okay, just about the time I start feeling really bad, he reminds me why moving will rock!
He parks in front of my car, blocking my path out. Now don't think I'm being snarky here. I am not. There is plenty of parking on this farm, but sometimes he chooses to park in such a way as to make it nearly impossible to get in or out. He's just funny that way.
He decides to do laundry the minute I start my laundry. See, we've had this little understanding that he does laundry on Wednesday or sometimes Thursday. I keep my stuff out of the way, so that he has clear and easy access. Lately, he's been doing laundry on Tuesday or Friday or, like yesterday, Saturday. You can hear the washer upstairs if you are in the bathroom or the hallway, so it's not as if he doesn't KNOW. Then he'll come bumbling down the stairs asking me to move my things so that he can get his laundry finished.
He'll complain about being broke. Now, this is really none of my business. It's not. But I use to manage his money after MIL received her get out of jail free card - wow that was tasteless. She passed on. She kicked the bucket. She met her maker. She fled and never looked back. YOU GO GIRL!
Ahem.
I know where his money is and how much he has. For him to say that he is broke, well, it's not exactly true. When you are broke, you don't play golf four days a week. When you have no funds, you do not go out to coffee every day with your friends. When you are broke, often times you don't have food or gas. You see my point?
One last thing that I will not miss about living here is the thanklessness. He is never thankful. He never, ever says please and he'll only say thank you if you remind him. And I know his mother taught him better than that! It's a shame, it really is. Over the years I've learned to simply accept it. After all, we do not do the right things because someone if going to be grateful. We do them because they are the right thing to do!.
There will be no more something or for nothing.
No more "favors"
No more "orders"
No more being treated like a twelve-year-old.
Please don't think me cruel hearted. I'll still come around to clean his house. It's a gift I give him. Not because I'm just all that, but because if I don't, he'll be swimming in his own filth before the end of the month and if he lives to be ninety (which he totally could) I would need a shovel just to get in the front door.
We'll bring him home baked goodies and have him over for dinner. The phone still works...until he jerks it out of the wall and we are only twenty minutes away. It's not like we've moved two hours away or out of state. We're still here.
We're just moving into our HOUSE.
And no one will ever, ever, ever, walk on my head again!
And don't feel too sorry for FIL. He's already plotting about what he's going to do when we leave. For one thing he's taking over the downstairs. He's moving his freezer. He's putting up a new rail. He's setting up his pool table.
And doing laundry any ol' time he wants to.
He's started getting this crazy look in his eyes that says, "Don't let the door hit you on your way out!"
Which is a good thing!
But that's another story.
One week from today we receive keys.
HOUSE!
From that point on it will be a mad dash to complete things over there and get things wrapped up over here.
HOUSE!
Many folks have been asking how FIL is taking the big move, to which I reply he seems to be taking it in stride. I don't bother them with the detail that I don't think he realizes how different things will be for him. No one will be here to bring him fresh baked cookies. There will be no one to walk the fence line for him. No one to chase his cutie little (if you call 250 lbs, little) black calf back into the pasture.
Who will let him in when he forgets his keys?
Who will listen to him rant and rave about his doctor, insurance company, phone company, idiot drivers, idiot neighbors, idiot family members, golf game, computer game, and the best buys of the week at the grocery store?
No one will be here to listen to him "golf" as he practices his pitching in the living room.
No one will hear him when he has a leg cramp at 2:30 am and he's pacing up and down the hall for half an hour.
And as our departure date draws near, I feel...I feel a little sad for that great big pain in my neck. But it's okay, just about the time I start feeling really bad, he reminds me why moving will rock!
He parks in front of my car, blocking my path out. Now don't think I'm being snarky here. I am not. There is plenty of parking on this farm, but sometimes he chooses to park in such a way as to make it nearly impossible to get in or out. He's just funny that way.
He decides to do laundry the minute I start my laundry. See, we've had this little understanding that he does laundry on Wednesday or sometimes Thursday. I keep my stuff out of the way, so that he has clear and easy access. Lately, he's been doing laundry on Tuesday or Friday or, like yesterday, Saturday. You can hear the washer upstairs if you are in the bathroom or the hallway, so it's not as if he doesn't KNOW. Then he'll come bumbling down the stairs asking me to move my things so that he can get his laundry finished.
He'll complain about being broke. Now, this is really none of my business. It's not. But I use to manage his money after MIL received her get out of jail free card - wow that was tasteless. She passed on. She kicked the bucket. She met her maker. She fled and never looked back. YOU GO GIRL!
Ahem.
I know where his money is and how much he has. For him to say that he is broke, well, it's not exactly true. When you are broke, you don't play golf four days a week. When you have no funds, you do not go out to coffee every day with your friends. When you are broke, often times you don't have food or gas. You see my point?
One last thing that I will not miss about living here is the thanklessness. He is never thankful. He never, ever says please and he'll only say thank you if you remind him. And I know his mother taught him better than that! It's a shame, it really is. Over the years I've learned to simply accept it. After all, we do not do the right things because someone if going to be grateful. We do them because they are the right thing to do!.
There will be no more something or for nothing.
No more "favors"
No more "orders"
No more being treated like a twelve-year-old.
Please don't think me cruel hearted. I'll still come around to clean his house. It's a gift I give him. Not because I'm just all that, but because if I don't, he'll be swimming in his own filth before the end of the month and if he lives to be ninety (which he totally could) I would need a shovel just to get in the front door.
We'll bring him home baked goodies and have him over for dinner. The phone still works...until he jerks it out of the wall and we are only twenty minutes away. It's not like we've moved two hours away or out of state. We're still here.
We're just moving into our HOUSE.
And no one will ever, ever, ever, walk on my head again!
And don't feel too sorry for FIL. He's already plotting about what he's going to do when we leave. For one thing he's taking over the downstairs. He's moving his freezer. He's putting up a new rail. He's setting up his pool table.
And doing laundry any ol' time he wants to.
He's started getting this crazy look in his eyes that says, "Don't let the door hit you on your way out!"
Which is a good thing!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Seventy-Five
I'd like to order the high cholesterol, high fat, high sugar, guaranteed to burst an artery breakfast. I'll have a regular Pepsi and a side of cinnamon roll please.
Could I also get a tall glass of whole milk?
Awesome!
Reality, of course, is not this. This is what you eat when you are twenty and still fit into your husbands jeans. This is what you eat when you are out with friends at 2:00am after leaving the club.
This is what you eat and makes you happy.
And you never give it a second thought.
Until you turn forty.
Okay, so the whole eat better, low fat, high fiber gig goes on. I'm a few pounds down from last week which makes me happy.
I am indeed a superhero. Tis true! I can whoosh through the drive thru at Jack in the Box, swipe a chocolate shake and three mini sirloin burgers, speed home and deliver them, unhandled, sniffled or nibbled on, to my FIL.
He's seventy-five and eats any damn thing he wants.
I told him he should eat more vegetables. He laughed at me and told me he wants ice cream for dinner.
I wish I was seventy-five.
Could I also get a tall glass of whole milk?
Awesome!
Reality, of course, is not this. This is what you eat when you are twenty and still fit into your husbands jeans. This is what you eat when you are out with friends at 2:00am after leaving the club.
This is what you eat and makes you happy.
And you never give it a second thought.
Until you turn forty.
Okay, so the whole eat better, low fat, high fiber gig goes on. I'm a few pounds down from last week which makes me happy.
I am indeed a superhero. Tis true! I can whoosh through the drive thru at Jack in the Box, swipe a chocolate shake and three mini sirloin burgers, speed home and deliver them, unhandled, sniffled or nibbled on, to my FIL.
He's seventy-five and eats any damn thing he wants.
I told him he should eat more vegetables. He laughed at me and told me he wants ice cream for dinner.
I wish I was seventy-five.
Friday, May 07, 2010
Men!
Just so you know, my hair...AMAZING! Truly. I look like a different person. A younger person. A prettier person. Just ask my Beloved, he'll tell ya it's true.
There is something about when you walk in a room and the man you have been married to for nearly 23 years says, "Wow!".
Basically, it means he can have anything he wants.
Anyway, Girl and I both Facebook. I started FB to keep an eye on Girl and to spy on Boy. Works like a charm. Anyone (read any male) who wants to friend Girl, must friend me. All of her alerts come to my email address. I keep a close eye on my girl. Yes I do.
So, the other night a young man who has friended both of us, started chatting with me. He made reference to my post on Girl's wall about her growing up so fast and to STOP IT! He said it made him laugh. He also mentioned that he had thought about posting a response about asking my Beloved if he could date/court our daughter. He said he was "joking".
ha
ha
ha
Now, neither Beloved or myself are stupid. We did not fall off the turnip truck yesterday. We are completely aware that Girl is a lovely young woman, just about to graduate high school, and that said young man has shown some interest in girl.
Joking my big toe!
Today, he sent her a message asking if she would like to attend a dance tonight. Girl called to me from the computer, "MMooommmmmm.....you better come take a look at this...."
And so it begins.
I always knew this day would come and he seems like a nice young man. But frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready for this and pretty darn sure that Beloved isn't.
In other news, FIL has reached the crabby, complaining, snarly, portion of his recovery. He's not so peachy any more. He moans. He groans. He won't go to the doctor. He won't go outside and sit in the sun. He won't do anything I ask him to do.
I am tired of dealing with crabby old men! But I'm trying a new approach. It's called, "fussing". I will fuss over him a little more. The Unabomber is still here, but he doesn't fuss. My hope is that if I fuss a little, that maybe he'll stop complaining.
Or is this like rewarding bad behavior?
Men!
I've got my Beloved who thinks that while I've always been beatiful, my new do is a MARKED improvement, a young man trying to woo my Girl and one old man stamping on what's left of my nervous system.
Men!
There is something about when you walk in a room and the man you have been married to for nearly 23 years says, "Wow!".
Basically, it means he can have anything he wants.
Anyway, Girl and I both Facebook. I started FB to keep an eye on Girl and to spy on Boy. Works like a charm. Anyone (read any male) who wants to friend Girl, must friend me. All of her alerts come to my email address. I keep a close eye on my girl. Yes I do.
So, the other night a young man who has friended both of us, started chatting with me. He made reference to my post on Girl's wall about her growing up so fast and to STOP IT! He said it made him laugh. He also mentioned that he had thought about posting a response about asking my Beloved if he could date/court our daughter. He said he was "joking".
ha
ha
ha
Now, neither Beloved or myself are stupid. We did not fall off the turnip truck yesterday. We are completely aware that Girl is a lovely young woman, just about to graduate high school, and that said young man has shown some interest in girl.
Joking my big toe!
Today, he sent her a message asking if she would like to attend a dance tonight. Girl called to me from the computer, "MMooommmmmm.....you better come take a look at this...."
And so it begins.
I always knew this day would come and he seems like a nice young man. But frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready for this and pretty darn sure that Beloved isn't.
In other news, FIL has reached the crabby, complaining, snarly, portion of his recovery. He's not so peachy any more. He moans. He groans. He won't go to the doctor. He won't go outside and sit in the sun. He won't do anything I ask him to do.
I am tired of dealing with crabby old men! But I'm trying a new approach. It's called, "fussing". I will fuss over him a little more. The Unabomber is still here, but he doesn't fuss. My hope is that if I fuss a little, that maybe he'll stop complaining.
Or is this like rewarding bad behavior?
Men!
I've got my Beloved who thinks that while I've always been beatiful, my new do is a MARKED improvement, a young man trying to woo my Girl and one old man stamping on what's left of my nervous system.
Men!
Saturday, May 01, 2010
How May I Serve You Today?
It's been a month since FIL broke his ankle and for the most part things are going pretty darn well. My BIL, the Unabomber, was dumped dropped off by my SIL. She had volunteered to stay with FIL last Monday, then changed her mind and got the Unabomber to do it. Whatever.
At any rate there have been an extra set of hands here to help out. Which has been great, except that Unabomber doesn't do things the way I would do them.
Gasp!
It's kinda funny, really and I'm learning to let it go. I'm still taking care of certain things because, well, Unabomber won't. But I really hate cleaning up after other people. People who have perfectly good working limbs should clean up after themselves.
I'm just sayin'.
Being at FIL's beck and call means that I visit the grocery store just about every day. It also means he tries to dictate every detail to me.
Hmmmm....who does that remind me of...
He informed me this morning that he is going to get up extra early on Sunday to get cleaned up. I told him I figured he would, being Sunday and all. FIL looked me right in the eye and said, "We are going to early service!"
Really?
And just how do you plan on getting there big guy?
Wheelchair?
Walker?
Hitchhike?
Unabomber doesn't drive and he may be leaving tonight anyway.
It's all good. We knew that FIL would want to go to the early service. His friends are there at that time and just between us, FIL likes all the attention he's getting. Just don't tell anyone.
FIL can be a difficult, stubborn, angry man at times. I'm pretty sure he's one of the main reasons my beloved MIL is in Heaven (she paid pretty high dues for forty-nine years and deserves a break). These past few weeks I've heard things come out of his mouth I never thought I'd hear.
Things like,
Please
Thank you
Thanks
And they say old dogs can't learn new tricks.
At any rate there have been an extra set of hands here to help out. Which has been great, except that Unabomber doesn't do things the way I would do them.
Gasp!
It's kinda funny, really and I'm learning to let it go. I'm still taking care of certain things because, well, Unabomber won't. But I really hate cleaning up after other people. People who have perfectly good working limbs should clean up after themselves.
I'm just sayin'.
Being at FIL's beck and call means that I visit the grocery store just about every day. It also means he tries to dictate every detail to me.
Hmmmm....who does that remind me of...
He informed me this morning that he is going to get up extra early on Sunday to get cleaned up. I told him I figured he would, being Sunday and all. FIL looked me right in the eye and said, "We are going to early service!"
Really?
And just how do you plan on getting there big guy?
Wheelchair?
Walker?
Hitchhike?
Unabomber doesn't drive and he may be leaving tonight anyway.
It's all good. We knew that FIL would want to go to the early service. His friends are there at that time and just between us, FIL likes all the attention he's getting. Just don't tell anyone.
FIL can be a difficult, stubborn, angry man at times. I'm pretty sure he's one of the main reasons my beloved MIL is in Heaven (she paid pretty high dues for forty-nine years and deserves a break). These past few weeks I've heard things come out of his mouth I never thought I'd hear.
Things like,
Please
Thank you
Thanks
And they say old dogs can't learn new tricks.
Monday, April 12, 2010
I'm a City Girl Dad Gum It!
I am a city girl. Tis true. Beloved knew this when he proposed to me in the front seat of a 66' Chevy Pickup. Come to think of it, I should have gotten a clue considering it was the "farm" truck used to haul everything from feed, to hay, to animals.
I shoulda known.
Don't get me wrong, there is no better place to raise a couple of kids (children not goats, although a farm is perfect for goats too). We never had the bad neighborhood kid to deal with. Loud neighbors? Not a problem! Beloved could crank his stereo without fear of retribution. Children can raise all sorts of interesting farm animals and invite their friends over for air soft wars without the local sheriff showing up to bother anyone. Yes sirree Bubba, a farm is a great place for a family.
Until...
There is work to be done.
I'm just sayin'.
With FIL laid up in Rehab, Beloved and I have found a new hobby. It's called, "Fixin' the Old Man's fence before the cows get out."
Now, doesn't that just sound like too much fun?
FIL in all his wit and wisdom did not purchase hay this year. Or last year, for that matter. In the past, he would purchase ten to twelve TONS of hay, which we would install in the top (yes, top) of the barn. This usually involves a hay elevator (not nearly as much fun as it sounds) and a good couple hours of sweaty, sticky, family fun.
Ahhh the good old days.
These days, FIL would purchase hay from a local grower, drive over in his ancient Toyota pickup, load up Ten to fifteen bales, and unload them into the front feeder (it's so much closer to the house, dontcha know).
Only, FIL is in Rehab...so Beloved went to the grower to get hay. But the grower wasn't there. He went to another local grower. Then another. Then another. No luck. He finally found a grower with third cut alfalfa for $10 per bale.
I know...$10 per bale. That's like two Starbucks! Or half a manicure!
At that price you cannot afford to feed cattle. Not to mention, this is HIGH end feed. This is stuff you feed to show horses! Not big, stinky, cattle. Or at least not our cattle.
So, even though it's a month early, FIL said, "Turn them out into the back pasture. But the fence isn't working..."
Do you see where this is going?
Needless to say we spent all day, okay most of the day...no, now that I think about it, it was pretty much all day, working on the fence. This involves walking uphill, both ways, from our house to the field. It involves four trips to our local farm store because we cannot find things like insulators. It also involved a bloody battle with blackberry vines.
The vines won and I have the bloody wounds to prove it.
And after all that work, the fence works better than it ever has before and I can rest in peace knowing that the cows will not get out into the neighbors pasture and feast on his gloriously green field.
But I just want to say that I did not sign on for this. No where in my marriage vows did it say anything about feeding cows. It also left out the part about herding them through a "lane". I'm pretty sure I missed the part about walking a fence line to clear it, patching a broken fence, or installing a new line of barbed wire. I'm pretty sure I would have caught that.
I'm a city girl!
The worst thing I'm suppose to worry about is breaking a nail when I order Chinese to be delivered.
Note to city dwellers: No one delivers Chinese in the country.
So rest easy my city peeps. The cows are in lock down and all is peaceful here in the country. Do keep in mind though that it's calving season...Mercy!
I shoulda known.
Don't get me wrong, there is no better place to raise a couple of kids (children not goats, although a farm is perfect for goats too). We never had the bad neighborhood kid to deal with. Loud neighbors? Not a problem! Beloved could crank his stereo without fear of retribution. Children can raise all sorts of interesting farm animals and invite their friends over for air soft wars without the local sheriff showing up to bother anyone. Yes sirree Bubba, a farm is a great place for a family.
Until...
There is work to be done.
I'm just sayin'.
With FIL laid up in Rehab, Beloved and I have found a new hobby. It's called, "Fixin' the Old Man's fence before the cows get out."
Now, doesn't that just sound like too much fun?
FIL in all his wit and wisdom did not purchase hay this year. Or last year, for that matter. In the past, he would purchase ten to twelve TONS of hay, which we would install in the top (yes, top) of the barn. This usually involves a hay elevator (not nearly as much fun as it sounds) and a good couple hours of sweaty, sticky, family fun.
Ahhh the good old days.
These days, FIL would purchase hay from a local grower, drive over in his ancient Toyota pickup, load up Ten to fifteen bales, and unload them into the front feeder (it's so much closer to the house, dontcha know).
Only, FIL is in Rehab...so Beloved went to the grower to get hay. But the grower wasn't there. He went to another local grower. Then another. Then another. No luck. He finally found a grower with third cut alfalfa for $10 per bale.
I know...$10 per bale. That's like two Starbucks! Or half a manicure!
At that price you cannot afford to feed cattle. Not to mention, this is HIGH end feed. This is stuff you feed to show horses! Not big, stinky, cattle. Or at least not our cattle.
So, even though it's a month early, FIL said, "Turn them out into the back pasture. But the fence isn't working..."
Do you see where this is going?
Needless to say we spent all day, okay most of the day...no, now that I think about it, it was pretty much all day, working on the fence. This involves walking uphill, both ways, from our house to the field. It involves four trips to our local farm store because we cannot find things like insulators. It also involved a bloody battle with blackberry vines.
The vines won and I have the bloody wounds to prove it.
And after all that work, the fence works better than it ever has before and I can rest in peace knowing that the cows will not get out into the neighbors pasture and feast on his gloriously green field.
But I just want to say that I did not sign on for this. No where in my marriage vows did it say anything about feeding cows. It also left out the part about herding them through a "lane". I'm pretty sure I missed the part about walking a fence line to clear it, patching a broken fence, or installing a new line of barbed wire. I'm pretty sure I would have caught that.
I'm a city girl!
The worst thing I'm suppose to worry about is breaking a nail when I order Chinese to be delivered.
Note to city dwellers: No one delivers Chinese in the country.
So rest easy my city peeps. The cows are in lock down and all is peaceful here in the country. Do keep in mind though that it's calving season...Mercy!
Thursday, April 08, 2010
When All Else Fails
Wake up
Drive to Rehab
Spend one to two hours with FIL
Drive home
Eat lunch
Go to work
Come home and go to bed
This has been my life for the past week.
On the upside, other people take care of FIL when I am not there. On the down side, FIL will probably be home in ten days or so, then he'll be my problem 24/7 and I'll still have to work and try to get all the other crap I have to do done.
Yesterday, FIL told me that Beloved and I should do some of the things we'd like to do. We shouldn't wait. We should travel, hike, enjoy each other. I nodded at him but thought, "That would be great, but who will take care of you?" I didn't say anything. It's not his fault.
Sigh
Beloved and I had a long talk about the future. Depending on how you look at it, it's either bright with possibilities or dark with hopelessness.
And I guess that's what is really getting me; the choice I need to make.
Complaining about how things are does not change things. It just makes you look and feel like a whiny baby who needs to man up and get on with it.
On the other hand, sometimes I like cheese with my whine!
I can choose to be like my mother and whine and snivel and blame everyone else for the bitter disappointments in my life or I can shake it off, stand tall, and get er done.
When all else fails and I'm starting to lose my sanity I will:
Pray
Take a long walk
Workout
Make a lovely meal for those I adore
Clean like a mad woman (I do this when stressed out - it's very therapeutic)
I promise to:
Keep my sarcastic, snotty, opinion to myself (stop laughing)
Refrain from using colorful language to get my point across (really, the laughing is overkill)
Not drink or eat myself into a stupor (are you finished laughing yet?)
This is all I've got and I've got to make it work. Otherwise, I'm selling everything I own, getting on a plane, and never looking back.
Drive to Rehab
Spend one to two hours with FIL
Drive home
Eat lunch
Go to work
Come home and go to bed
This has been my life for the past week.
On the upside, other people take care of FIL when I am not there. On the down side, FIL will probably be home in ten days or so, then he'll be my problem 24/7 and I'll still have to work and try to get all the other crap I have to do done.
Yesterday, FIL told me that Beloved and I should do some of the things we'd like to do. We shouldn't wait. We should travel, hike, enjoy each other. I nodded at him but thought, "That would be great, but who will take care of you?" I didn't say anything. It's not his fault.
Sigh
Beloved and I had a long talk about the future. Depending on how you look at it, it's either bright with possibilities or dark with hopelessness.
And I guess that's what is really getting me; the choice I need to make.
Complaining about how things are does not change things. It just makes you look and feel like a whiny baby who needs to man up and get on with it.
On the other hand, sometimes I like cheese with my whine!
I can choose to be like my mother and whine and snivel and blame everyone else for the bitter disappointments in my life or I can shake it off, stand tall, and get er done.
When all else fails and I'm starting to lose my sanity I will:
Pray
Take a long walk
Workout
Make a lovely meal for those I adore
Clean like a mad woman (I do this when stressed out - it's very therapeutic)
I promise to:
Keep my sarcastic, snotty, opinion to myself (stop laughing)
Refrain from using colorful language to get my point across (really, the laughing is overkill)
Not drink or eat myself into a stupor (are you finished laughing yet?)
This is all I've got and I've got to make it work. Otherwise, I'm selling everything I own, getting on a plane, and never looking back.
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