My year in review …

Writing is hard work … the muse doesn’t necessarily strike every day, and in my case, the muse has been missing since early November.  What to write about when nothing comes to mind?  Pros have discipline, and probably a few tricks to get them past the blank page.  I have ADD and too many TV channels.

So, going with the flow of “Looking back at 2018” as the media is wont to do this time of year … I thought I’d take a look back at how the year went for me, sort of do a little inventory of things.

January: Intermittent fasting … bust.  Partridge family obsession still going strong.  Crypto-currency experiment … expensive (and not in a good way).

February – March:  apparently nothing of note occurred.  Or nothing worth writing about.

April: Marched on Washington for sensible gun control.  Broke shoulder and tore rotator cuff falling off bike at speed.  Bike, however, not a scratch. 

May: Railed on cyclist who don’t obey the rules of the road.  Started rehab on broken shoulder.  Impatient for results.

June: Tried Grubhub … not an overwhelming success.  Burger never left the restaurant.  Ended up with cereal for dinner.  Again.  Pondered visit to Haiti vs being a blood donor.  

July:  Actually took a vacation.  Tried to get the most out of every moment while also relaxing and getting some rest.  It’s the windmill I tilt at.

August: Gave in to impulse and bought e-bike.  Joined the ranks of the cyclist commuter.  Realized how little cars pay attention to cyclist.

September: Accused of being a traitor by co-worker for daring to express a dissenting opinion of our idiot president.  All things being equal, I considered it a great compliment.

October:  Art projects took a decidedly abstract path.  Generally unsettled and unreasonably annoyed.  Pondered getting in touch with former brother-in-law as a means to spy on ex.  Wisely decided against it.

November: Chatted up on Instagram by what seemed like a very nice guy.  Flattered but wary.  Then he claimed to be a three star general.  Really?  A three star general hanging out on Instagram?  Alarm bells ring … pressed him for a video chat which he avoided.  Blocked the account.  

Which brings us to December.  So, what have I learned this year?  Ordering clothing on the internet is a tricky thing at best.  There are all kinds of fakers hanging out in e-space.  Broken bones take way too long to heal.  Electric bikes are way cool.  I’m happy being single.  The joy of cake-in-a-cup … desert in 90 seconds!  Discipline, like patience, is a virtue which I will always struggle with.  And, meal kits are great!  

2019 will start with rotator cuff surgery … but, hey, things are bound to improve from there!

Cheers from 2018, see you in the New Year!

Should I or shouldn’t I …

The other day while wandering around Facebook, idly searching for names of past or former friends, I came across my former brother-in-law.  Boy has he changed!  He went from slim to body builder … a 180 degree difference … I almost fell out of my chair.  Only his face was familiar.  

Wow, did a lot of memories come flooding back.  Recently I wrote about things I’d like to tell me ex and … is this a sign that I should?  Or should I send an innocent “oh, hi” message to my brother-in-law?  What would I say?  It’s not like we have any Facebook friends in common that I would naturally stumble across his profile.  The only way I would is if I’d purposefully been looking.

Some backstory … my brother-in-law, let’s call him Steve, has quite a colorful and storied past.  He was an addict, cocaine and alcohol (that I know of), had been through rehab (? times) but seems to have traded drugs for body-building.  A much healthier path, to be sure.  While in the midst of the drug years, we had a tense relationship.  I liked him a great deal but loathed his behavior.  His family seemed to accept his drug use and subsequent actions as “that’s Steve, what can we do?” while I silently seethed with anger and disbelief.  Once he wrapped a brand new truck around a telephone pole, after which when the police arrived, the search was on for a body … the crash was that severe.  I either don’t know or don’t remember if Steve said how he got home that night but I do remember the truck was a gift from his grandfather and owned barely 6 months before it’s embrace with the telephone pole.  Again, the reaction from the family was limited to “at least you’re okay” with not a thought or mention of the fact he could have easily killed or injured an innocent stranger.  Not a word about being so drunk the police were looking for a fatality.  Nothing about wrecking a very expensive gift.  Not one single utterance.  I was outraged and held myself apart from the family, sitting very quiet and not speaking to anyone, let alone joining in the “thank God you’re okay” talk.  And guess who got chewed out later on for “being rude to Steve” … yes, me.  Talk about insult added to injury.  Of course, the admonishment came from my former husband making it all the more cutting.  I have not and will not be a quiet witness to abuse, of drugs, alcohol, to oneself or another … I certainly won’t be complicit by refusing to take a stand.   By accepting his behavior, his family condoned his actions and enabled his lifestyle.  I refused to be a party to this attitude and for that I was chastised.  

Addiction ran in the family as both parents were alcoholics, as (it turned out) so was the eldest son (my erstwhile ex).  It was status quo for them but inconceivable for me.  Admittedly patience is not a virtue I’ll ever be known for, so I might have been on the harsh side of judgmental.  However, if my choices were cooperation or condemnation, I chose the latter.  There was a grey area of compassion I couldn’t quite manage.

So, switch to present day and the discovery of Steve on Facebook … and the question de jour … do I reach out to him?  What would I say?  Or should I let past rest in peace.

Things I’d like to tell my ex …

IMG_3971 - Version 3If you have an ex … likely there are things you’d like him or her to know … without actually talking to them face to face.  It’s like, you want to tell an intermediate friend who you know will tell your ex.  That way, the ex will find out how fabulous your life is without you having to actually talk to them.

What I have is a predicament … on one hand I want my ex to know how well I’m doing but at the same time I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I want him to know.  Wait, what?

We were a good match on the surface, but as that sort of thing goes, reality is a different situation.  He turned out, over time, to be a bully.  He was the king of passive/aggressive, a master of the sly insult.  He was the child of two alcoholic parents, an air force brat, demanding as hell and impossible to please.  We stayed married for almost 12 years because I took “in good times and bad … forsaking all others … until death do you part” seriously.  It never dawned on me to seek solace from anyone but my partner … to bad my partner didn’t share my monogamous ideas.

That was then and this is now.  I’ve been divorced for more years than I was married and, for the most part, don’t give my ex much thought.  Still, every now and then, like an unwanted ghost from the past, his shadow falls across my thoughts.  Living well is supposed to the best revenge, but knowing the other person knows you’re living well feels even better.  It falls under the category of karma … while you may understand that karma will get a person back eventually, it’s icing on the cake if you get to see it happen.

In the grand scheme of my life since, he is a ghost with no power.  As Carly Simon sang in “You’re so Vain” … “you gave away thing things you loved and one of them was me”

Your loss.

 

Status of things, and a goal …

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The diet … the intermittent fasting … hmmm.  Well, I suppose it’s been something on the successful side of things.  I have lost a few pounds, but just a few – as in 4ish, depending on what time of day I step on the scales.  In the spirit of full disclosure, I have been a little lax with the rules on some days, also not counting calories, nor exercising.  Losing weight isn’t my goal as much as getting back into shape and maintaining a healthy lifestyle.  Perhaps it’s time to reset and start again.

Crypto-currency market … here, unfortunately, I have recorded significant losses.  Not inches around the waist, but dollar signs of my investment.  The day after I plunged in, someone pulled the plug and Bitcoin tanked.  I’m playing the long game … it’s what I tell myself when I compare the $’s I started with compared to the $’s I have left.  It may be a really long game.

Rut or Groove?  Wasn’t that where this story started?  I was in a funk, a rut, the winter doldrums … searching for my mojo and that other ski glove.  Good news!  I found the ski glove but still missing the mojo.  I’d hoped with the coming of spring (finally!) my mood would perk up … my motivation would return.  There are some faint signs of life – somedays I do come home from work and DON’T head straight for the sofa and a nap.  On the weekends I’ve been known to go for a bike ride … but it all feels kind of forced.  Like I’m trying to talk myself into something.  Like that old saying “Fake it ’till you make it” except I’m tired of faking it.  It’s time to shake things up.  Time to figure out what floats my boat, what stirs my curiosity, to sift through those old memories like a gold miner panning for those shiny dreams.

Memory Lane

I’m sitting here listening to “The Partridge Family Greatest Hits”.  A real blast from the past.  I got so silly with nostalgia, I went and ordered the complete series on DVD.  You know, there are some real dialogue gems in those episodes, especially between Danny and … well, anyone, but especially Ruben, the manager.  Sure the episodes are cotton candy when compared to sitcoms today, but that’s part of their charm.  They are simple but not simplistic … sweet but not sugary.  And the music!  How refreshing to be able to understand what’s being sung!  And the tunes are catchy as well.  I think David Cassidy was the only one doing any real singing, the other actors were dubbed – and how many kids the age of the youngest boy can realistically play the drums?  Plus, I have trouble believing Danny could manage a regular size bass guitar.  Still … with all the obvious flaws and dreadful 70’s fashions, it’s a show that never gets old, not for me anyway.  It may not burn any calories, but taking a stroll down that memory lane sure burns away the blues.

Come on, get happy!

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