I meant that I won’t get fooled again starting NOW. 

Sigh… Silly me and my good intentions and my forgetfulness of results and my cavalier sharing-of-emotions and my fancy cars and rap music…

The hard part, of course, will be remembering that just because I can only expect healthy results while staying at arm’s length from one person doesn’t mean I have/need to do that for all people.

It was too soon. They both knew it.

Panting, she sat back, feet tucked under her naked bottom, suddenly petrified with the idea that she was… well… being had. Again.

He’d said it as he entered her, two weeks after he’d first done so, four weeks after the first time she’d touched her lips to his.

She’d only heard those words uttered from two lovers before him. One was a teenage lover with whom she’d spent years pining over in a torrid series of imitation love affairs. The second was a chubby boy, a passing fling in the interim between serious relationships, who clung tightly to her in hidden moments and later went through the various stages of grief on her voicemail after she’d called it quits. There were two others from whom she’d longed to hear the words but left in their place memories of awkward, broken affection.

Neither of them had found themselves in a serious relationship in over a year. While he was quick to ask for her exclusive affection, she was hesitant at jumping into something so new and sudden, mainly due to her certainty of the affair’s inevitable demise when the two parted ways after their upcoming college graduation. Admittedly, she’d become cynical of the idea of love and resolved to pursuing a life of independence, free from the burdens and trappings that coincide with the absurdity of romantic bonds.

Still, as the momentary impact swept over her, she smiled in the darkness. Without so much as a half-minute’s hesitation, her hips resumed their undulations and she surrendered herself to the organic passion of this suddenly significant occasion.

Later, they lay breathless in the darkness, the lover’s dew still chilling on their entwined limbs. With trepidation wrapped around every word, he spoke softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

She propped herself on one elbow, positioning herself just a breath away from his lips. She smiled, ran a hand over his cheek and whispered, “There’s no need to apologize, sweetheart.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I love you, too.”

So we’re doing better. After gratuitous vomiting (her) and sobbing (me) she’s taking some soft foods, a little bit of juice and, most encouragingly, she’s babbling and sitting up and engaging with me more, which gives me great relief. 

My baby is sick. My inlaws are coming to town today. I am running low on cash. Suuuuch trivial housewife problems. Soooo mind-monopolizing. 

These are the days I miss drinking the very most.

Castallare ~

~  watches reruns of old shows when she can’t sleep.

~ still can’t fully grasp that she’s a mother.

~ is a brunette despite her best efforts otherwise.

~ guzzles green tea like she’s being paid by the cup.

~ flinches when she remembers mistakes she’s made, no matter where she is or who may be watching.

~ likes the smell of gardenias.

~ hurts when those emails and letters go unreturned for yet another day, after the hundreds before.

~ misses the floating feeling of chemical release.

~ procrastinates.

~ can’t believe how quickly she’s getting older.

~ is afraid that losing weight will make her a smaller person in general.

~ likes sweaters and sacred hearts and the color green and African elephants.

~ keeps secrets better than she used to.

~ doesn’t regret many things that she’s said in the heat of the moment.

~ spends too much money on mascara.

~ wonders what people would say about her if she were given a “roast”.

~ doesn’t catch fireflies anymore out of personal principle.

~ thinks of him when the wind is strong, even though she tries not to anymore.

~ likes the way she looks in black.

~ gives more than she gets in a lot of instances.

~ whitens her teeth to counteract all the tea and coffee over the years.

~ is distrusting of anyone who claims to have The Answer(s).

~ confesses things she probably shouldn’t.

~ has a thousand ideas daily.

~ loves his nose, his smile, and his kind, clear eyes.

~ smokes one menthol cigarette every six weeks or so and thoroughly enjoys it.

~ feels her heart skip a beat when she sees their names.

~ used to overpluck her eyebrows but doesn’t anymore.

~ wonders what personal reinvention actually looks like… if it truly exists.

~ listens to certain songs on repeat for days and days.

~ may have only seen real beauty a handful of times.

~ envies people more than she should, but never for their possessions.

~ wants to get to know her Gran better.

~ is patriotic again. Finally.

~ has to redefine her agreements in order to move forward.

~ likes the idea of oblivion when she’s not terrified of it.

~ can’t learn or remember math terminology and practices, no matter how hard she tries.

~ lights candles every day.

~ can jump on a pogo stick for hours if needed.

~ listens when people think she isn’t.

~ loves reuben sandwiches and Shirley Temples.

~ wants to live in a third world country and experience real struggle for a change.

~ longs for surprises and romance and excitement and passion more than anything.

~ prefers handwritten letters to any other form of communication.

~ stays up all night some nights, hurting for things she’s lost.

~ is running out of things to say.

Suddenly everyone’s crazy for this meme on Facebook where they mention 25 things about themselves and then “tag” you, thus obligating you to do the same. I’ve been “tagged” for this literally 10 times in the last week and have filled it out accordingly, although tactfully.

But here are the 25 Things I really want to talk about. I won’t be tagging anyone, just sharing it with whomever may be reading.

1) Right after I started AA, I began to think that secrets were selfish, narcissistic ways that humans prevent themselves from really sharing and loving with each other. I spent a lot of time telling everysingleone of my secrets (and admitting to everysingleone of my faults. Publicly. Ad nauseum.) in hopes that it would bring me peace.

Then, I realized that I (like so many others) have One Enormous Secret that rules my subconscious and lives with me daily, but would undo my entire life as I know it right now. And, no matter how badly I wish for this Secret to be released and this desire to be quenched, I know that it has to stay buried for the most part. So, like most of humanity, I keep my Secret in my pocket daily and learn to work around it and the aching that accompanies it. And in doing so, I feel more normal than I ever have because I know in my heart that I’m not alone.

Recently, however, I’ve learned to bring my Great Big Secrets (of which there are many) out into the open with my spouse and reach a new level of intimacy that I’ve never had with anyone. Although I may never tell anyone the One Enormous Secret, I feel more open and liberated knowing that someone knows my major ones without any judgment or rejection.

2) Sometimes, I do unbelievably random, spontaneous, erratic, harebrained things just to mess with people and the flow of the Universe in general that are really, genuinely, certifiably insane. And I wonder - while I’m doing these things - if the only reason I’m not considered insane is because I’m aware of just how crazy these actions really are.

3) I believe in Romany/Gypsy magic and lore. The few times I’ve partaken in these practices I’ve been floored by my results, so I don’t dabble in them very often at all and I don’t take them lightly.

4) My cat loves my husband more than he loves me. Because of this, I’ve started resenting the Fuzzy One and so now there’s this mutual hostility between us that isn’t broken unless he’s desperate for attention.

5) I’m still totally amazed that I’ve been able to share a living space with one other person for almost two years without either of us sleeping apart in anger or arguing longer than 15 minutes. This astounds me on many many levels, especially because there was an unexpected pregnancy thrown into the mix.

6) I want to get rid of 30-40 lbs for a long list of reasons, but the major one is so that, for the first time since the 8th grade, I can leave the house without loathing the way that I look. I’ve gotten close a few times, but around the time I start getting to my healthy weight where I’m active and toned and feeling good about myself, I chicken out for some reason and sabotage my progress. I’m trying to overcome this self-sabotage in a number of facets pertaining to my life, actually, but I’m starting with the physical and working inward.

7) Last Sunday Chloe was in my arms and playing with my sunglasses, pulling them off my eyes and squealing when I smiled at her. Suddenly, she leaned in and deliberately kissed me on my nose with a definitive “kiss” noise to mimic the thousands I’ve given her. It was all I could do not to start crying right there at my gratitude of the effectiveness of such a tiny gesture. I wish I could sell Chloe kisses in pill form and rid the world of depression.

8 ) I do a number of things each year for various charities that I really enjoy. I sponsor a girl through Compassion International, I donate to a handful of local charities, I’m a sucker for kids selling things for school and Scouts (mostly because I remember trudging door-to-door hawking cookies.) But I write letters back and forth with a woman on death row for completely different reasons, completely unrelated to any sort of charity work, and I get more out of our letters than any other active “reaching-out” that I do.

9) Not a day goes by when I don’t think about “treating myself” to a drink. I used to quell these thoughts by “treating myself” to other various rewards such as chocolates, CD’s, books, clothes, cigarettes, etc. Now, I can make it through most days without needing to “treat myself” to anything at all.

10) I don’t fear her because I know confidently that my husband would never leave me, but I loathe my husband’s ex girlfriend for the stupid, untrue things she made him believe about himself. (But not enough to actually hurt her. Just enough for some snotty sideways glances… Just FYI.)

11) I used to be all about it, but these days I’m just too lazy and disengaged for drama. When I accidentally stir it up, I’m the first to admit defeat and surrender even if it’s not actually my fault because I’m just so over altercations and all the deception and other crap involved. I don’t even care if I’m the victim of someone else’s ego-fueled drama; I just want it done and over with.

12) I got a blender for my birthday but I’ve been too afraid to take it out of the box. I’m afraid I won’t like my own homemade smoothies and will regret not spending my Target gift card on something else.

13) I don’t care how short he is, I think Richard Hammond is the sexiest Brit since Roger Daltrey circa 1972.

14) I know all 556 of my Facebook friends personally, which says a lot because I spent time purging a lot of non-friends and ex-boyfriends from my Friends list because I just didn’t want to be given updates on them anymore.

15) I get on wild tangents where I want to learn about one topic or another and obsess about it for weeks until I’ve exhausted all my resources and have read about it until I’m sick of hearing or thinking about it. This has resulted in mounds of books on random topics from every possible genre (like the Gnostic Gospels as per my most recent fascination) becoming strewn across the house, only halfway consumed.

16) I’m scared to start writing out my resume because I’m afraid I don’t have much to show for my 26 years and I’ll have to face it on paper once I start trying to market myself.

17) Even on days when I haven’t posted anything, I still check my blog to see if anyone’s stopped by. I’m always touched when I read that a good number of people have and I fight the urge to continually thank my readers for taking the time to read my words. Additionally, (and most strangely), I like to look up the IP addresses of those who are reading. There are a few readers here who intrigue me a good deal, but I’m not about to ruin a good thing. (Thanks for tuning in.)

18) I’ve started cooking and I’m learning that, with a little patience, I’m not terrible at it. My problem has always been rushing things to get to the end result and I’ve never understood those people who were able to enjoy the actual process. This seems to be the great lesson of my life, incidentally.

19) When I was younger, it was the things people said to me that were the most hurtful. As I’ve grown older, it has become the things that people haven’t said that have cut me wide open. Many times, silence and apathy have absolutely devastated me and, even to this day, a few specific people’s refusal to talk with me hurt me more than I can even express in a simple blog entry.

I guess this is why I make sure to say everysinglething that I need to say whenever I have something I feel I must express, no matter how insignificant it may seem to those around me. This is often awkward and embarrassing as I tend to repeat myself a lot to make sure my point has been thoroughly heard and understood, but I hate the notion of going through life without making sure I said what I could in any given situation, knowing how much others’ refusal to do so has hurt me.

20) I’ve never had a pedicure. I’m in no rush to change this.

21) I have about three or four exes that I honestly could not care less about hearing from ever again. A couple have tried to get in touch and I’ve just deleted their emails without a second thought. The worst part is that I can’t even feel bad that I meant far far more to them than they did to me. I hope this doesn’t make me heartless.

22) Whenever I cry to myself, I always wonder how many other people in the world are doing it, too. I wonder what they’re crying about and whether knowing that other people are crying would make them feel better or not. I wonder if I knew what others were crying about if it would make me feel better or worse about crying in the first place. These thoughts are meant to make me feel comforted, but this idea of  universal loneliness and sadness makes me feel more alone in the moment, knowing that there are more like me who are dissatisfied. Even the Beatles talked about it Eleanor Rigby, so it’s not news, I guess. It still makes me wonder though, almost constantly, if there’s some sort of Higher Cure that we’re all missing out on. (Now is not the time to argue religion with me.)

23) My worst habit is guilt.

24) I’m addicted to feeling good. I’ve realized that this addiction goes far larger than just alcohol, but tends toward many behaviors and habits of mine that I’ve had to rethink and find balance within. Balance is a big challenge for me because I’m very much a “Carpe Diem!!!!” type person when I’m not wasting time on depression. I love doing things to excess, no matter what they are as long as they make me feel good. Restraint for the greater good has never been my forte.

25) I hate yoga. I’ve tried a million bazillion times to really enjoy it for it’s spiritual earth-connectivity purposes, but I just cannot enjoy it. I’d rather meditate while doing all-out cardio or meditate while sitting still, but not both at the same time. I mean, I get it and I admire those who can master and benefit from it, but I don’t think I’m at the point in my life where it feels satisfying to me. Maybe I need pilates as a gateway to yoga…

This may be the nerdiest thing I’ve ever confessed to, but I so very badly miss being in an active university environment. I miss having my work read and criticized by egotistical professors, I miss getting into screaming arguments with other strongly-opinionated students (and sometimes professors) about things that absolutely didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I miss the engaging conversations about ideas and revolutions all these other inconsequential luxuries that a well-rounded wealth of knowledge provides.

I know, coming from someone who failed out of university for three solid years and took 7 whole years to acquire an undergraduate degree, it sounds really ridiculous.

But the truth is, at my core I’ve always loved learning and the idea of school. When I was just starting kindergarten, my mom got me my very own desk and I loved sitting at it for hours doing “homework”, sometimes until the sun went down and she called us in to dinner.  (This usually consisted of me coloring in a coloring book or “practicing my penmanship” by scribbling my first name matched with the surname of my favorite New Kid on the Block.) I loved the feeling of accomplishment that I felt when I made decent grades and my parents eagerly encouraged my advancement in school.

Soon, I was that annoying kid in my class who was always making straight A’s and always acheiving a little more than what was required. In kindergarten, I read more books than anyone else and my teacher took me and my bestie to dinner and a movie. (Funny story: She was supposed to take us to see ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids’ but forgot to check the local listings at our town’s tiny Cinema 4. So, instead, she took two 6-year-olds to see ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’. True story.) In first grade, I scored 100% on every single spelling test I took all year. In third grade, I did more voluntary book reports than anyone in Mrs. Moore’s class and I won her annual Multiplication Bee. What’s even more nerdy and embarrassing is that I didn’t enjoy the adulation as much as I genuinely loved learning. I consumed piles of books and delved intensely into researching any little thing that fascinated me and I was quick to try to engage my peers in discussing what cool things I was uncovering in my extracurricular explorations… And, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I got picked on so much.

Then, around middle school, I started dealing with my first devastating depressions and my grades plummeted. My poor parents thought I was just being teenager-y but the truth was that I’d lost all interest in anything that had excited me. I dragged myself through school, hid away in dark colors and layers of self-loathing until college when it all collapsed into a drunken, insane mess. Gross.

During that time, there were glimmers of my real curiosity that would peek through my own shroud of doubt and fear. One semester, I even traveled abroad and performed in an award-winning comedy troupe, but I wasted many nights of my adventure shaking and sobbing in overwhelming attacks of panic and depression. This sudden relapse ultimately caused me to fail out of every class I’d been succeeding in until the last two weeks of my stay and managed to set me back tremendously in my general recovery.

Only during my last year of college, after I started receiving adequate treatment for my depression did I start to recapture that sense of excitement with trying new things and learning everything I could about anything that piqued my interest. My senior year, I threw myself headfirst into bellydance and kayaking and student organizations and my classes. I stopped missing classes, and started talking and engaging in friendships with other BA’s that roamed the halls with me daily. Although my habitual inner-critic was working overtime to scare me back into my hole, I pushed forward and was able to really enjoy myself for a change. I really felt I’d recaptured this part of myself that I hadn’t seen since I was very young and had honestly believed had perished with age. And, even though my new friends picked on me about it, (Ahem…Hayley.) was glad to see my inner nerd return.

You know the rest of the story. (Through working with various student publications, I fell for the student magazine’s sexy art director who whisked me off my feet and had me pregnant and engaged within months. Two years later, we’re married with a one-year-old and living happily while working in our respective fields of expertise. M’aawww…)

I think I was too excited to really notice how much I missed school when I first graduated, because I was so busy being excited about my pregnancy and hurriedly preparing for my daughter’s grand entrance. I read every bit of material about the stages of pregnancy and parenting and What to Expect and thoroughly exhausted myself with diving right into this new, uncharted territory that I didn’t have time to notice that I missed deep, theoretical conversations about linguistic history or Victorian-era scandal.

Now, after sitting at home with a baby every day for a year, I find that I am suddenly ravenous, not only for human interaction, but for mental enrichment. I’ve finally started making time for pleasure-reading again, which has found me reading contemporary classics and popular spiritual new releases, but this just doesn’t seem like enough for some reason. I’ve even gone so far as to create an online writer’s workshop among some friends within a popular social networking site in hopes to recreate a sense of growing through critique that I so enjoyed about being a literary English major. (I know, totally nerdy). More than once, I’ve discussed starting or joining a book club with friends, but my time is so limited I can’t actually make that sort of commitment just yet. So, right now, my enthusiasm for learning is being quelled by a couple hours of The History Channel after dinner during the one night of the week with Greg and the few hours of reading I get after Chloe goes to bed on the nights that Greg has freelance work to get to. I’ve ordered a few books from Amazon to learn about various topics of interest, like the Women’s Movement or the Sexual Revolution or, most recently, The Gnostic Gospels.

I hate the idea that I’m wishing my daughter’s life away but, sometimes - especially when things are particularly unglamorously stressful on the homefront - I really look forward to the day when I can go back to school and really throw myself into graduate work. I feel like with the enthusiasm I have for continuing my education, it won’t be hard to recreate the momentum I had at the end of my undergrad career. And I know in a few years when she goes off to school I’ll have more time for selfish things like a career and more education, but being that patience has never been my strong suit, I’m having trouble accepting that I might just have to wait that long.

(How many Beck song titles can I knock off for blog entry titles? Sheesh)

I’ve realized that New Years Resolutions aren’t successful for a number of reasons, but the most important being that if you were really that adamant about making these personal changes, one wouldn’t wait until a specific date to start being a better person. This is why I’ve started my planned resolutions slightly before the new year begins, in order to integrate them into my daily habits and not act as if they are somehow stunts that I am pulling off only to abandon once they become difficult. Also, the following resolutions don’t include my actual personal goals for the year, as I have them written in my own calendars and agendas, but plan to share in the near future, once I get them all hammered out.

So yes. Here we are

New Year’s Resolutions 2009

1) Stop Swearing So Effing Much
My daughter’s getting of the age where she’s going to start picking words up and I really need to quit with such explicit language if I’m going to be around throngs of children for the next couple decades. Now would be a good time to start weaning myself off such a tacky, trashy habit as cursing… I was an English major, for Christ’s sake. Surely I can start flexing that vocabulary a little.

2) Make Daily Meditation a Morning Event
I do better when I set up my day positively than when I try to reflect on my day and try to salvage it as I’m going to bed. I have lots of affirmations, prayers, rituals, etc. that I enjoy and pull strength from daily, but feel they would best serve me in the morning. However, instead of trying to cram silent meditation, various sets of spiritual/psychological/personal/metaphysical affirmations, morning pages, tarot readings, pilates, and mediumship all into a 30-45 minute slot, I think just going with what I feel I most need on a daily basis is a realistic place to start with regards to starting a sun-welcoming ritual.

3) Stop Apologizing for Everything
Yes, I know that my need to apologize for existing shows weakness and is a product of me trying to find a balance between humility and healthy pride. However, I’ve gotta stop apologizing for every action, every notion, every sentence that I dare to expose because I’m creating this reality in which I’m afraid of actualizing myself and, even though that’s not what I want, my fear is becoming more and more evident with every meek apology I utter daily. So, only when it’s absolutely necessary will I apologize. And when I say something or do something that I stand behind, I will not apologize for or try to control someone else’s hurt feelings as those are not my responsibility or under my control. (See? AA stuff lasts a longlonglong time. Have I not mentioned that?)

4) Let Go of One Vice Per Month
I have more vices than I have hairs. I’m pretty embarrassed by most of them so I keep them under my toup for the most part, but I constantly realize my need to release most of these. However, when I try to abandon them all, I tend to fling myself back into them a few weeks down the road out of my fear of inevitable failure at such an unreasonable standard.
So I’m kicking one vice per month. One month I will give up that one-or-two cigarettes I’ve started having when I go out with my girlfriends fortnightly. Then the next month perhaps I’ll quit sodas altogether. And then maybe the next month I’ll finally stop delivering pent-up heartfelt diatribes to people who don’t actually give a shit about me. Then I’ll give up dragging myself over the “shoulda, woulda, couldas” every day (hopefully with the help of Resolution #2) And then the next month I’ll give up sweets… The idea is that if I can stay away from these habits of mine for a month, then they’ve been broken from my system and I can choose to keep them around in moderation or do away with them altogether (now that I know that I can.)

5) Love My Body
Alright, this one has been the hardest for me for the better part of two decades, so I don’t think I’ll cure it overnight, but maybe in one year I can make some progress. It sounds really stupid when I said it out loud earlier, but I’m never going to love my body if I don’t GIVE LOVE TO MY BODY.
I is astute.
Instead of talking down to my body and making me feel bad about what I look like, I’m going to take more care of me as an individual person. I’m eating better, fresher produce, I’m getting the exercise and activity that I need and I’m going to start enjoying my body for the force that it is, no matter where my weight lands at the end of the year. Ideally, I’d love to get rid of this same 30 lbs. I’ve whined about since high school, but really, I’d just like to get out and go kayaking and bellydancing again. And if I don’t get on a scale this whole year, that’d be perfectly fine with me.

That’s what I have at the moment. Again, these are just building blocks to help me reach bigger goals, but I think these are all obtainable and reasonable, knowing my level of discipline and wavering attention in recovery.

I’m guessing I should resist the urge to start a journal about this, too. Herhhmmm..

Sometimes, very very late at night, when I’m awake by myself and writing or reading or staring at the ceiling from my bed (or someone else’s as the case has been in the past), I feel this sensation that’s so overwhelming it’s all I can do to hang on in the midst of the sensation. It’s that whirring, whooshing, whirling feeling/notion that everything that could have happened already has, that everything that’s going to happen is just about to, and that everything that can happen is happening right this second. I can’t explain it, really, but I’ve sensed it in the quietest of moments, in the darkest, calmest moments of solitude, ever since I was very young. It’s deafening and inspiring and exhausting and envigorating all at the same time and it feels like the most tangible example of Life and Truth I’ve been exposed to.

It’s like during the first chance my mind has a chance to stop observing everything and just exist, it gets caught up in this delirious, pulsing flow of the world and all of It. It’s far above flashing cameras on red carpets or towering mountains above cities or Christmas morning glee or first love tingles or the great blue-light-inducing arc of orgasm or any of the other stupid, tangible, visible things humans seem to think make us really involved with life. It’s just this buzz that would seem frantic if not for it’s consistency in intensity and it’s unwavering intertia. It’s huge and yet it’s strangely familiar when I hear it.

And I realized recently that this strange whooshing is only familiar because it somehow whirrs quietly in me every day, whether or not I choose to acknowledge it. Even if it’s whirring to drive me into the ground or buzzing to push my spirit upward, it’s always there and yet I don’t notice it until it’s very quiet and dark and I’m alone and not trying to be or feel anything I assume I’m supposed to be. It’s the most prevalent when I’m not busy trying to find it. Figures.

I’ve always had a hard time that this wrenching, captivating, thundering intensity exists only to me at 3 a.m which is why I’ve always perked up when people mention that force “that keeps them up at night” in cheesy scripts and wondered if it’s pieces of the same force that makes rejected lovers “sob themselves to sleep” at night. I wonder how close I can pull this force into the daylight without seeming like a brainless eccentric and I wonder how I can slow my mind down enough to have access to it when I have the freedom to act on it. I wonder why people try so hard to sweep it under the rug. I wonder why nobody talks about it except in cliche films. I wonder if everyone else has learned how to deal with this and, only as my mind is starting to stumble back into functionality am I able to focus on it again. (And then, of course, I wonder why I always assume that everyone around me has everything figured out years before I do.)

I wonder if I should just shut the hell up for once, quit trying to overanalyze the shit out of something mystical, and just enjoy it on a level without language. I’m thinking that’s the one.

Eehhn.

So…

…Recently, I’ve noticed that my new meds are giving me the energy and the courage to follow through on things that I ordinarily would procrastinate on, which is a blessing at first. I’m getting things done! I’m answering phone calls! I’m sponsoring poor kids! I’m bathing! I’m initiating projects (like being Secret Santa for a friend and her kids who live out of town!) And soon I found myself doing those things on my God I Wish I was Insane Enough to Do This list, including a particularly massive “What if?” that’s haunted me since late 2003.

I’ve thought about it. I’ve pondered it. I’ve talked myself out of it. For a solid half decade. And then, early one morning this week, I just freaking did it. Finally.

And this is me freaking OUT while awaiting fallout from The Single Most Insane Thing I’ve Ever Done In My Whole Life.*

Fingers crossed, I won’t get burned too badly and everyone can go about their lives with sanity intact and not too much boat-rocking involved…

*Yes, I plan to be vague about this for as long as physically possible, but, seriously!?!? After all these years? What the hell was I thinking ?!? I must look like one of those deadly loons one reads about on CrimeLibrary.com!! With some sort of unresolved parental/prepubescent/attachment issues or something!! Who does that!? Baaahhh!!… I mean, would it absolutely kill me to leave this life with even one regret? It’s like I won’t let one “coulda woulda” sit in my pocket anymore fer nothin’… for Christ’s sake…