Last night, as we headed to bed shortly after 8pm, I told him I was afraid that the switch to days may have been a mistake. That it seems we see each other less, and on average, there’s less time for fooling around.

He deflated; I felt his body start to heave. He feels this might be a mistake at work, new coworkers, more bullshit to deal with. He’s afraid I was giving up on him, because he and I both know he can’t change back his schedule at this point.

I immediately regretted letting the words slip from my mouth. I never want him to think I’ve given up on him. Everyone before me has, family, friends, lovers; and so it would kill me to do that to him as well. I don’t know that days was a bad choice, or that it means less time for us in the long run. I know he’s adjusting to the change in schedule, as I am, and that my job nonsense is affecting us as well. We may will figure out a balance as time moves forward.


I’ve been toying with the idea of really putting some of this down on paper. Well, ok, maybe not paper, but you probably know what I’m talking about.

More than a few times, someone has read something I’ve written here or elsewhere and asked me if I was going to write my story.

I’m realistic, I know either a fictional tale about the events or a memoir of sorts would have snags getting to the submission stage. I have had a few things published, but not in the last few years. I’d be one of the many, many people hoping their story could be picked up.

Could I even get it down in a way that would appeal to a reader? Could I make it interesting to anyone but myself? Would I feel as if I was exposing the lives around me too much?

Can I write my history without it being dull?

In the wee small hours

I wake at some point, plagued by dreams filled with strangeness.

I reach to my left, to find him tucked there in the sheets. Full of heat and perspiration, I wonder if he is living that nightmare over again.

We toss and turn, in turn waking throughout the night. Pulling close when we notice we’ve drifted apart.

These nights are sleeping different than the days. The bed is the same, the sheets as soft and familiar as they’ve been; still, the time changing has affected us.

I will lay in bed naked, and early, to be beside him again this evening. I will be there when he slides up against me, so I can feel him, breathe him in.

Strange timing

I am a big fan of Her Bad Mother’s Basement.

Today, a post I wrote months ago is posted.

It feels strange to read that since so much has happened in the last several months. (Because of so many submissions, posts get backlogged)

I’m now in such a good place with the best friend, now boyfriend. We’ve found a way to work through things as they come up. To communicate with one another and to the other our needs, wants, frustrations and fears. No relationship is perfect, but I feel we’re doing so well.

The relationship I was in at the time was a wreck. When things turned abusive, I left & ended it. I had a chance to take a look at me, my life, what I wanted, where I wanted to be.

I chose to start this relationship because I love him more than I know how to articulate; because I care so much about him. He is such a good man; he cares about me and for me. He is thoughtful and considerate. He is strong and sensitive, funny and sweet. He loves me, as I am, flaws and all. I feel blessed because I know he loves me for me.

We chose to embark on this journey because we love each other, because our lives are better together, because we compliment the other. We have fun together no matter where we are or what we’re doing. We have a passion for the other that grows each and every day.

I’m lucky.
So very lucky.


It is happening a lot here lately. Me, overreacting to something he says.

I’m taking things the wrong way, and assuming one thing when it’s intended as another.

I don’t mean to, but it happens. Am I being ridiculous or is it just a phase we’re going through?

I tend to want to withdraw, when I know he’d rather I turn to him and communicate what I’m feeling. It’s difficult, but I will try. I will also try to let things roll off my back, and not react to everything so quickly.

panties in a twist

The things bothering me are petty, yes, but not few. To alleviate some of my aggravation, I will put them down here and then try to be quiet about it.

I took a temporary position for a few weeks – covering while someone is on vacation. I don’t think my patience level is what it’s supposed to be. Especially not with spoiled rich kids, and their equally pampered parents at this office.

I worked a few days at another odd job, and finally got paid for it. It isn’t much, especially given how poorly they treated me and how they took advantage of me. I see why they hire local people for a day or two at a time, instead of hiring real long term employees.

I had a promising interview and a follow up last week, only to be told they hired someone else when they couldn’t reach me. I never turn my cell phone off. I had one unaccounted call that day – a restricted call I did not answer quick enough. There was no voicemail left. It was only when I called the next morning to thank them for interviewing me that they informed me that they called the next choice on their list. The job was very low paying and very few hours, but it was something, and probably something I would have enjoyed.

I am worried about Mr. Z changing schedules. The previous post is a glimpse into this, but I am concerned this will change our relationship. With him rising at 4am and heading to bed somewhere around 8pm, it’s a big change. I’m trying to see the benefits and the positives, but I still fret about when we’ll spend time together.

Once again, I’m not feeling well. I feel so weak, tired and drained. The pain is almost unbearable at times. I know I should be monitored and maintained, but until I get insurance, I wait.

My family is constantly singing the same tune. When will I come back? When will I visit? Why don’t I come home? Every time I think of them, I miss them. Every time I call, the guilt trip continues.

Things are not completely finalized back in Tennessee, and it is wearing on me, and others. Again, it’s an issue best solved by finances being a bit more in order. In the meantime, people are hurting, and I hate that.

There are still things of mine elsewhere. Most things are elsewhere, and I want them here, both for practical reasons, like that I can’t afford a new summer wardrobe and I’m tired of paying storage costs and just because I want them.

Ok, I’m done for now, thank you for indulging my whine.


Since usually on Mother’s day I’m bitching, moaning and crying, I thought this year I’d break from the pattern and talk about my own mom. I am grateful for each and every thing she gave me, taught me, did for me.

She taught me to be myself, even when that meant people laughed at me.

She raised me with the belief that I was beautiful, both inside and out. Even when I didn’t fit society’s ideal, or felt inferior, she’d remind me. She’d point out many people who were also beautiful, so I wouldn’t rely so much on some advertising to show me.

She gave me a love and appreciation of musicals, Italian food, old movies, front porches, car rides.

She showed me that marriage was hard work, but that if you both worked at it, it could be done well. I know she feels I’ve failed in this regard, but part of the reason I ended my marriage was because I knew I deserved a relationship with a partner who treated me like an equal.

She instilled a sense of care, made sure I knew that those I loved, and those who loved me were important and deserved my attention and affection. My mother loves every friend she has like family, and does what she can to make the lives of those around her easier.

She wants me to be happy, much like any mother would.

She smiled at my projects, applauded my performances, tasted my experiments. She laughed at my jokes, smirked at my clumsiness, cried at my disappointments.

She is not perfect. I have especially learned over the last few years that she is flawed. I don’t love her any less, but I see her as a woman, as a wife, a friend, and not just as my mother, but as a mother.