Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Been there, done that... bought the blog....

How many times have I run away from blogland? How many blogs have I begun and discarded, deleted or forgotten?

When I began this blogging thing, in February of 2005, I was looking for a way to complete myself. Or to get to know myself. Or to like myself.

I was looking for affirmations that I am not as bad as I feel.

But in the end all I have done is pretend....

Let me tell you who I really am. We'll call it the 100 True Things About Me:

1. My name is Melody
2. I'm 41 years old.
3. I am a mother to two daughters, Lorena and Jessica.
4. I am not a particularly good mother.
5. I have been married for over 22 years.
6. I have not been a particularly good wife.
7. I've never liked myself.
8. I've always WANTED to like myself.
9. I am afraid.
10. I have no idea what I am really afraid of.
11. I am selfish.
12. I am greedy.
13. I am not a good friend.
14. I am a liar.
15. I cheated on my husband and ruined my marriage.
16. With a man I don't even LIKE.
17. Because I could not have the man I thought I wanted.
18. I fell in love with this man, but I knew I could not have him.
19. Because I wanted him to save me.
20. And I convinced myself it was ok, because my marriage was bad, and because I believed that this man loved me too.
21. I blamed my husband for my betrayal.
22. Besides being controlling, emotionally absent, and clueless, he did nothing wrong.
23. He can't forgive me.
24. I don't particularly care.
25. My relationship with my children sucks.
26. Because I spoiled them, and wanted to be their friend.
27. And because they don't respect me, because I have never given them reason to.
28. I am jealous of people who have more, and do more, and are better than, me.
29. I am over 100 pounds overweight, because I am too fucking lazy to do anything about it.
30. I cannot stick to anything.
31. I don't clean my house, and it's literally FILTHY.
32. I don't care.
33. I want people to like me.
34. It makes me crazy when they don't.
35. So I woo them.
36. Even if I don't particularly like THEM.
37. I want so badly to be loved, that I "fall in love" with any man who is nice to me.
38. Which pisses my husband off.
39. I have been unfair to my husband. I have written things about him that make him seem like a monster.
40. He is not so very complicated as that.
41. I am ashamed of how I have treated him.
42. And that makes me angry.
43. So I take it out on him.
44. I have no tolerance for stupid people.
45. And I am probably the stupidest one of all.
46. I am a snob.
47. And I have no reason to be.
48. I am not beautiful.
49. I am not sexy.
50. I am not brilliant.
51. I am not popular.
52. I do not have a lot of money.
53. What I am is lazy.
54. Arrogant.
55. Lazy.
56. Scared.
57. Lazy.
58. Immature.
59. Lazy.
60. Unfocused.
61. Lazy.
62. Disloyal.
63. Did I mention lazy?
64. I have a bottle of pills that I have been saving for awhile.
65. They would probably help me if I would take them.
66. I mention them to people all the time, as if I would take them and kill myself.
67. I am far too afraid of dying to do that.
68. But I want people to feel sorry for me.
69. My life has been entirely uneventful.
70. I long for it to change.
71. I dream about it changing.
72. And I daydream about it changing.
73. I think about it almost to the exlusion of everything else.
74. And yet I am too lazy, and too afraid to change it.
75. I'd rather be a victim.
76. I try to laugh at myself before other people can.
77. Because I always convince myself that they are going to.
78. I am a bully.
79. Though not a successful one.
80. Inside, I am terrified of being found out.
81. I talk loud, to be noticed.
82. And then I cringe when people notice me, because I convince myself that my weight is all they see.
83. And I hate them, before I ever know what they truly feel.
84. I don't believe people want to be my friend.
85. Because I don't believe I deserve it.
86. And so I abuse the friendship, and doom it to failure.
87. So I can cry about how no one likes me.
88. That way I feel in control.
89. I am always hungry.
90. I eat until I am sick sometimes.
91. I hate to look at myself in the mirror.
92. Eating is the only part of my life that I feel in control of.
93. And it is probably the most out-of-control part of my life.
94. I hate this person that I've become.
95. I want to be anyone but me.
96. But I am tired of hiding from life.
97. And I am going to do something, even if it is wrong.
98. And I am starting here, with my blog.
99. This will be my last post.
100. Until I am someone that I like.

Th-th-that, th-th-that's all folks...........

melodyann posted at 10:05 PM


Sunday, September 24, 2006

She's making a list... checking it twice....

Despite the title, this post is not about Santa, Christmas, or Obsessive Compulsive checking.....

It's about my love of lists.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is melodyann and I am a ListMaker.

Whew... There, I've said it. The first step to overcoming a problem being ADMITTING you have a problem, I feel better already.

I make lists everyday. Some of them are the kind of lists that you'd expect, jottings of grocery lists on napkins from McDonald's... long, carefully crafted "TO DO" lists of jobs I must get finished at work... Hastily scratched lists of errands I need to run, written on the back of my bank statement envelope....

I find these lists everywhere. In the bottom of my purse, in the floorboard of my car, stuck in between two files at work, lying half chewed on the floor of the puppies' cage.

Sometimes, the lists are incredibly important, and serve me well, such as the one which reads: 1. Don't forget to wash Hopie's black band t-shirt and socks for tonight's game; 2. Go to the grocery and pick up feta cheese for the linguine and clam sauce; 3. Don't forget to call American Express and make that damn phone payment BEFORE the 21st!!!!

Other times, the lists are left forgotten on the seat of my car as I try to maneuver through the grocery with no CLUE what it is I desperately needed when I came in.

There are other lists that I make, which are not so usual. These lists are made and maintained completely in my head and stored in a way that probably makes sense only to me. Some of these lists include:

Friends I've Had Who Became Slimy Embezzlers, Thus Ending the Friendship
1. Lesa
2. Lana

Although, I've had to revise that one, because I realized I only became friends with Lana AFTER she became a Slimy Embezzler, which prompted the list:

Friends I've Had Who USED To Be Slimy Embezzlers
1. Lana

Starbucks Coffee Drinks I Have Learned to Love:
1. Vanilla Latte'

Well, so far that is the only one I love, as that is the only one I keep purchasing. But I'm sure that list will grow soon...

Fat Women's Clothing Stores Where I Spend Most of My Money:
1. CJ Banks
2. Lane Bryant

Sometimes, things and people are on more than one list in my head. Consider, for example:

Best Friends I Have Made Via the Internet:
1. Luann

Best Friends Who Seem to Have Forgotten That I Still Exist On This Planet:
1. Luann

I maintain these lists with due diligence, furtively writing and rewriting them on the thin walls of my psyche, erasing some, creating others:

Places Where I Am Too Dumb To Drive:
1. Statesboro, Georgia
2. Morgantown, West Virginia
3. Chesapeake, Virginia

This list was scrapped, in favor of a NEW and more preferable list:

Places Where My Husband Thought I Was Too Dumb To Drive, But To Which I Drove, Anyway:
1. Statesboro, Georgia
2. Morgantown, West Virginia
3. Chesapeake, Virginia

This fall I will add Hagerstown, Maryland to that list, and next summer I hope to be able to add, Morriston, Florida, and Topsail Beach, North Carolina.

Sometimes my lists are to remind me NEVER, EVER to do something again, as in:

Foods That I Hope to Never, EVER taste again:
1. Ginseng Soup
2. Beets
3. Liver

And other lists remind me to indulge more often:

Places Where It's Fun to Spend Time and Money:
1. Barnes & Noble
2. The West Virginia State Fair
3. Amazon.com

There are lists of people, too:

People That I Wish I Had Never Had The Horrible Bad Luck To Meet:
**This list must remain in my head, to keep my ass out of trouble, but trust me, it's longer than you might think.

People That I Wish I Knew Better, and Could Spend Time Drinking Coffee and Talking With:
1. FunkyB
2. The Naked Nerd
3. Sheri
4. Burfica
5. Katie Couric, 'cause she's just cute as a bug.
6. Ellen Degeneres, 'cause she makes me laugh till I pee.

I'm currently working on a LIFE LIST, as encouraged by Ellen Degeneres, because SHE thinks it's important, so by gosh, "I" think it's important, and because, dang it, I've never really DONE anything. So far, here's what I have on my LIFE LIST:

1. Quit Smoking.
2. Lose lots of extra poundage.
3. Go to Ireland.
4. Go to Italy.
5. Learn to dance.
6. Learn sign language.
7. Go to college.

I'm still working on that list, of course. Any suggestions?

melodyann posted at 11:36 AM


Thursday, September 21, 2006

Does that seem a little CRAZY to you?

Today, boys and girls, we is gonna talk about crazy. More specifically, we is gonna talk about me and MY crazy. Cause I have lots and lots a little bit of crazy. Of course, all of my crazy is self diagnosed, so I may actually be crazier than even I think.

When I was a little girl, I was afraid of my food. This was mainly because my brother Mark told me he put BB's in all my food, and that BB's would choke me to death. Yeah. I was kind of a stupid kid. But wait, it gets better.

I was so afraid of the BB's that might be in my food, that I checked each and every bite with my fingers, before putting it in my mouth. And once it got in my mouth, I checked it carefully with my tongue. And as I was chewing, should I happen to bite down on anything crunchy or hard, the entire mouthful was spat out and examined. You can imagine how much fun I was to have around at dinner.

Later, Mark told me that I was adopted and mom and dad were saving their money to buy an army jeep, with which to run me over. From that point on, I was terrified of jeeps. Can you imagine how frightening it was when my brother Mitch got a jeep CJ-7? I figured mom and dad just couldn't afford the army jeep and had decided that in a pinch, any old jeep would have to do. I still hate jeeps.

When my cousin Randy sold smoke alarms one summer, he showed us a film about housefires. After that I became convinced that we would all die a fiery death, and I spent hours planning and mapping out our escape route. Then I packed everything that I loved in paper grocery bags and stacked them neatly at the end of my bed. I was ready to escape. Until my mom told me to stop being ridiculous and unpack those darn bags.

My mom told us about a man whose last meal was fish and milk. Then he just died. After that, no more fish and milk for me. In fact, just to be on the safe side, I stopped drinking milk altogether. When I went to grade school, I used to beg my friends not to drink milk with their fish. I told them if they did, they would surely die. Yeah, I got laughed at a lot a little back then.

I read a book once about a serial killer who was a mortician. He had a ring specially made with a needle and a spring and whenever he touched some kind of button on the side of the ring, the needle sprang out and a dose of some sort of paralyzing drug was sent racing through the bloodstream of his victim. The drug was so powerful and the effect so lasting, that the person was pronounced dead and buried before he/she woke up. Can you imagine waking up inside a coffin? One person actually woke up during his own autopsy. Freaky, freaky shit. After that book, no part of my body could be out of the covers at night. Especially my feet. Dear God, that man could be at the end of my bed, just waiting to spring that needle into my foot.

I had a lot of fears about bedtime. I was so afraid of spiders and scorpions (ok, we lived in West Virginia, so um... no scorpions, but still...) that I had to take all the blankets, sheets, pillows and pillowcases off my bed each night, to make sure no tiny little murderous creature was lying in wait for me. Then of course, I had to put it all back or my mom went NUTS. She had this unnatural fear of any of her children sleeping in an unmade bed.

I hated going into our basement at night, and of course the washer and dryer were in the basement. I was just sure that Satan, or some of his minions, were waiting to grab my feet out from under me as I skipped up the stairs. You never heard such "Get thee behind me, Satan!"-s as I managed to bellow out during my formative years. Of course, years later, I had to go and watch that damn Blair Witch Project movie, which was completely UNSCARY until the last scene, when the girl goes downstairs, and the boy is standing in the corner. So now I hate to go downstairs, because I am just sure some horrifying THING will be standing with it's nose pressed to the corner of my basement walls.

Just wait. It gets even better....

I read a book called "The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Washing His Hands" or something like that. It's about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Hmmm. I felt pretty safe at first, I don't do the hand washing thing. I don't do the house cleaning thing. I don't do the checking thing. (Well, unless you count the car keys thing. I DO check my purse several times after I lock my car door, even though I distinctly remember putting my keys in my purse, because what if I am remembering putting them in my purse YESTERDAY, and actually locked them in the car today? And then later? In the store? Well, I just check to make sure they haven't fallen out of my purse is all. Or what if I CHECKED several times YESTERDAY and forgot to check today?)

But then I read about counting. Counting things. Counting words. Counting syllables. Counting notes. Counting steps. Oh shit, I thought to myself. Um... I sort of DO this. Like, for instance, if I have a song running around in my head, I will (bear with me here, this is kind of EMBARASSING) sort of click my teeth as I replay the song in my head. It's better if I can remember the whole song, but if not, I will just do it on the part I know. I start with the number of words. I need them to be a multiple of 6, because I have six front teeth. If it doesn't work out, I move to syllables. If THAT doesn't work out, I can add in drum beats, if they are significant. If all of that doesn't work, I can switch it to multiples of 5, and do it on my hands. If I can't get it to work, no matter what I try, I have to find a song that does work, because the first song has now become TAINTED. I can't have a tainted song running amok in my brain, it would be like a train wreck. Who knows how much brain function I would lose? (a case could be made, I think, that I have ALREADY lost a significant amount of brain function.)

And um.... I count steps. I've written about this before. I like to estimate the number of steps it will take me to get from point a to point b. Then, if I am getting to point b too quickly for my step estimate to be right, I will start taking baby steps to raise the count. If I am getting there too slowly, I will take giant steps, as if I am trying not to step in a pile of dog shit, or a particularly nasty mud puddle. Now none of this step counting is particularly bothersome unless I happen to be in a parking lot, and people actually watch me, and I sort of look like one of the 10 Lords a Leaping, or if they actually see me standing at the trunk of my car, marching in place, to get to the right number of steps. Then, to say the least, is my face red.

But the worst part of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, at least to me, are the uncontrollable thoughts. Here is where my craziness is no longer funny, and becomes debilitating and insufferable.

You see, what seems to happen is that a person suffering from this condition has thoughts running randomly through their minds. Sometimes the thoughts fly through my brain so fast that it feels like a "strobe light" of cogitation. It's not frightening, exactly, but it IS exhausting. Say for example that I get up in the middle of the night to pee, and think about smoking a cigarette. I decide no, it's too late, I'm going back to bed. Every conceivable thought that a person could think about cigarettes, will then proceed to meander about in my psyche. To the point that I will feel COMPELLED to get back up and smoke the fucking cigarette. I try to concentrate really hard to relax and clear my head of all thought, when it gets like this. Because if I don't, I'm like a junkie without a fix. I can't sleep, I can't concentrate, I can't function. So, I imagine my head is a sensory deprivation chamber, my brain just floating in darkness, where no light, no noise, no outside influences can penetrate. After YEARS of practice, I can generally overcome this nuisance. But I have to be able to get to a quiet place, a dark place. If I'm at work this is a problem, because of my aforementioned embarassment to talk about any of it.

Sometimes, the thoughts are slow and frightening. Like, for instance, I can be driving along in my car, minding my own business, and come upon a truck, say, a truck full of giant logs. I will "SEE" those logs rain down on my car, crushing me, my girls, my car, all to hell and back. And then my mind starts frantically trying to figure out a way to stop it from happening. I call these my death thoughts. They are completely random, and vary in detail and frequency. Sometimes, I will see myself getting stabbed, can almost feel the knife slicing through my skin, followed by the sting and the sudden gush of blood and "bits o' me". Sometimes, I will see something happening to one of my girls, while I either stand helpless to prevent it, or only find out about it later.

These are the kinds of thoughts that I cannot bear. They are my secret shame, because I have told very very few people about them. People look at you very strangely when you tell them, "Yeah, sometimes I see me or my kids dying as many as 50 or 60 times a day."

I did some research a few years ago, when it had gotten so bad that I could barely drag my butt out of bed, for fear of what I might see in my mind. I was afraid to drive, afraid to go out in public, afraid to open my curtains or my windows. I saw danger everywhere. It was easier to sleep my life away. But it wasn't very much fun for my girls. So I did some research. I read in a few places that doctors prescribed Celexa a lot for OCD, as well as for depression. I talked with my doctor about how I became so depressed each fall as the anniversary of my mother's death loomed closer. I asked him to prescribe the same medication for me. I told him nothing about the death thoughts. I was embarassed and ashamed.

But the Celexa worked! At least for the most part. I now only suffer the death thoughts maybe once a week, or twice a month. I don't keep count of them anymore, and am more easily able to push them from my mind.

Another thing that OCD sufferers contend with are what I call the "Inappropriate Thoughts". When you feel the urgent need to laugh out loud at a funeral, or when you sit in church and imagine having sex with the preacher. When you want to punch your smart ass kid in the mouth, and can actually SEE the blood pouring out of her mouth and over your fingers..... Sex with family members, exposing yourself to strangers on the street. These kinds of thoughts are so shameful to many OCD sufferers that they refuse to seek help, because they can't bear the thoughts of sharing these thoughts with another living, breathing soul. I've had some of these thoughts. And I've been shocked and appalled and damn near overwhelmed by some of the things that I didn't want to "think". I thought for so long that I was so bad, that surely there was a special place in hell for me, because those thoughts wouldn't be in my head if I wasn't thinking them, would they?

But they would. Thank God, I found this medicine, because I very nearly had a nervous breakdown over just the symptoms that I suffered. I am no match for OCD. Some people suffer the same symptoms as me and many, many more. And many of these people suffer it alone, without any kind of medication that could help.

Why am I telling you all of this now? Geez, I just barely started to be able to write anything that anybody wanted to READ again. And maybe some of you will read this and think, "This lady is FUCKED. She's a screwball." Maybe you will be so totally disgusted by what you read that you won't come back to my blog.

But, my goal here is to write about the things that I think, the things that move me, make me laugh, frighten me, make me cry or piss me off. If I have to worry all the time about how my thoughts and written words are being received by whomever happens along to read them, then what is the point of writing?

So, hit me with whatever YOU are thinking. But don't be mean, or I'll cut your fucking heart out and eat it for breakfast cry.

melodyann posted at 12:29 AM


Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Wednesday.... take out the trash........

So it's Wednesday again. I know this because my husband told me last night. "Tomorrow is Wednesday. Trash day. Why don't you go through the refrigerator and throw out some stuff?"

He tells me this every Tuesday night. And every Tuesday night, I say: "Thank you, I'll get right on that." And then I continue watching House. And then I watch something else. And then I play some solitaire on the computer. And then I go to bed.

And every Wednesday morning he says, in a not-so-happy voice: "Thanks for going through the refrigerator last night." And I say, in my ever-so-happy voice: "You're welcome."

And then he says, which NEVER fails to annoy me: "Everything in there is rottening." And I reply: "Things are not ROTTENING. They may be ROTTEN. Or they may be ROTTING. But they are NEVER, EVER, ROTTENING. And FYI? I don't like to touch rotting things."

And then he leaves in a huff, and that is how I know it is Wednesday.

I have an aversion to going through the refrigerator, looking for ROTTING things. More so than the aversion I have to cleaning in general. Something about sniffing around here, poking around there, lifting lids on God-only-knows-what-this-used-to-be, and picking up bags of cucumbers-turned-soupy just strikes me as WRONG.

You wouldn't believe how many storage bowls I have thrown away because I could not bear to empty the contents of them. That's why I SAY NO to Tupperware. Too expensive to throw away.

And you wouldn't believe how horrible my refrigerator looks. Which is why I have pictures. Please don't hate me because I am afraid of rot. I have redeeming qualities. Great teeth, for instance. And hair, I have GREAT hair. And I'm smart, and have a good sense of humor. Just because I am a pig in a STY doesn't mean I am unworthy.

When I took these pictures, I counted 9 bottles of salad dressings. Eight bottles of steak sauce, two BIG bottles of ketchup, some soy milk that has never been opened and is God-only-knows how old, 3 containers of cool whip, 5 containers of sour cream, and 7 packages of cheese. Oh, and 5 bottles of soy sauce. I keep forgetting that we HAVE soy sauce.

There are some weiners in there that are good. About 3 packages. And some that are hard as a rock, and sort of look like little red torpedoes. We made tacos with the hamburger last night, and none of us died, so I'm assuming it wasn't quite bad yet.

Somebody spilled a coke, so some of the shelves are sticky. Which is why we have THREE jars of mustard. Two of them were stuck, so I bought a new one. There USED to be a box of baking soda in there, but I took it out when we ran out of toothpaste one time. It got spilled in the bathroom, but that was ok, because the carpet was a bit damp, and starting to smell a littly funky. Baking soda is good for that.

Oh, GodhelpmetinybabyJesus, I'm hopeless. I'm helpless. I'm a pig and a slob.

But I have a good smile.....mememe

melodyann posted at 7:33 AM


Monday, September 18, 2006

Woo, Woo, Woo, (clap), First Down!!!

So, I went to my very first college football game. Picture it:

It's Thursday evening, about 5:30 p.m. I've been up since 5:00 a.m., getting our shit together, shopping for stuff to make dinner to take to Renie's apartment, cooking, WORKING, going to lunch with my boss, our office manager, and THE single most annoying woman in the world (more on HER later, mkay?), and then making a mad dash to the high school to pick up Hopie, driving like a bat out of hell to Morgantown, dropping dinner on the table, dropping my big butt into a chair and announcing to the world, "I'm not moving again until tomorrow--leave me alone."

I look over at my beautiful daughter, who by the way, has lost weight and looks TERRIFIC, sporting her brand new WVU Mountaineers girlie football jersey.... and she don't look so happy.

"Wanna come outside with me while I smoke?" I says to Renie.
"Melody, you don't have to go outside anymore... we smoke in here now." says Malorie, Renie's roommate.
"WE?" I ask.
"Well, me and Miranda do..." says Malorie.
"Um, well, no, I'd rather go outside." I say.

So, we get outside and Renie is near tears.
"Mommy," she says, "you can smoke in the apartment, it doesn't matter. Everyone else does."
"Well, I'm not everyone else, and I made you a promise." says I. "Besides, this is YOUR home. I can smoke in MY home, if I want to, but in YOUR home, I show respect. Now, tell mommy what's wrong..."

Turns out, Malorie and Renie were supposed to go to the game together, but now Malorie is flaking out, because she is sick. Although she doesn't look sick. And she doesn't act sick. And it's almost 6:00 and Renie doesn't have anyone else to go to the game with.

And Amy and Hopie only have 2 tickets. Cause I wasn't going to go. I was gonna lie on the couch with a Diet Coke and a book, and vegetate.

But no.

My kid needs me.

So we get online, order ourselves 2 tickets, bum a ride with Amy and Hopie and off to the game we go.

My God, it was great.

First of all, our tickets were in the middle of ENEMY CAMP. Yessiree, we were two of the very few yellow and blue shirted souls in a sea of red and black. You Maryland Terrapin bastards. We hated you on sight.

Nah, it wasn't like that. There were a few loudmouthed assholes from Maryland... and many, many more from WVU.

What can I say? The game was awesome. The band was fucking INCREDIBLE. And I learned to do the first down cheer!!! Well, LEARNED might be stretching it a little. I kept fucking it up. But it made Renie laugh and that's all I cared about. Here's how to do the cheer, in case any of you are completely clueless like me:

First, you have to wait till it looks like your team has a first down. Then you put your hands in the air and do jazz fingers till the announcer says, "First Down, West Virginia!", at which point you THEN bounce your hands up and down THREE times while shouting "Woo, Woo, Woo", and THEN you clap, point your left arm at whichever end of the field your team is rushing towards and scream "First Down!"

Only, I kept fucking it up. I got the jazz fingers down to a fine art. I was jazzin' me some fingers, let me tell you.

I even remembered the "Woo, Woo, Woo!"

But I forgot the clap about half the time.

And the pointing? Got it right once, I think. Kept pointing to the wrong end of the field. Yeah, I suck. But, like I said, Renie laughed, and it was nice to put a smile on my kids face.

We watched that game all the way to the last second. Even though WVU was ahead throughout the WHOLE game. Even though it started raining in the fourth quarter. Even though it was freaking COLD out there. Even though my and Renie's hair started to CURL (oh my Gosh!). Cause that's what my kid wanted to do, gosh darn it.

And that night, I also had my very first EVER, Dairy Mart pizza stromboli, and I gotta tell you, those things are awesome. Even if, as Renie says, I wasn't able to enjoy it fully, cause you gotta be drunk to get the full taste sensation.

I wowed my kids with my knowledge of rap lyrics (It's goin' DOWN, meet me in the mall....)

Oh yes, a great time was had by all......... Great googly moogly!

melodyann posted at 11:41 PM


Monday, September 11, 2006

Lots of things about me that you didn't know, maybe....

melodyann posted at 1:58 PM


Friday, September 08, 2006

"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other." Mother Theresa

I've been thinking a lot lately about belonging. Well, actually I've been thinking a lot lately about NOT belonging. Geez, I never really saw myself as a whiner and a complainer, but I've looked back through some of my posts, and that seems to be all I do now. Moan and groan. Cry and complain. I'm sick of it.

My problem is, I just don't know where I belong. I don't go to church, haven't in a very long time, so I don't feel as if I belong there. I am not a member of any groups or clubs, so it's not as if I have a clique to belong to. I don't have a gaggle of girlfriends, to meet with ever so often, for chick talk, so I don't belong there either.

I'm not really a participating member of my family, as I loathe and despise housework of any kind, my marriage is cracking up, and when I'm here I'm generally asleep, or playing hours of solitaire, so I don't feel as if I belong here either. Most of my family are far away except for Mark, and he's busy learning all about how to live a fascinating life, so I don't have a family to belong to anymore.

About the only time I feel happy is when I'm with my girls. And when we are not here.

So, that's it. My problem, I think, in a nutshell.

I don't belong......

melodyann posted at 9:31 PM