When I Was Seventeen . . .

. . . it was a very good year.

Well, that's how the song goes anyway. Although I think back to my teenaged years with some fondness, I am quite happy to be where I am. My kids are brilliant. I know who I am. Life, for the most part, is fantastic.

My neighbour's son is 17. He has his graduated license and the pride in his being when he pulls the car around to pick up his parents is very evident. He's a good kid and looking forward to university. His grown up life is in its infancy. My ex's new 'best friend' is also seventeen. I had the privilege of seeing them together today as I was walking down the street with the wee ones. The kids were happy to see daddy. He was 'at work' using his ears (listening to a band that was inside while he sat outside) and, by the look of things his drinking arm was getting a good work out too. The 'best friend' avoided eye contact. Something to hide sweetie? (when I say sweetie I really mean 'stupid kid' in case any of you were wondering). The connection between the two of them is beyond me. Really, I find it to be a bit icky but, to each their own I guess. It's all too normal. Man has mid life crisis and leaves home, wife and kids in order to hang out with sweet young thing who is just beginning to get her sea legs when it comes to relationships and has no idea what real responsibilities entail which suits man just fine cuz he wants to hide away from his own. Where's the originality?

38 Might Not Be My Year

Ok. So I spent my 38th birthday at a funeral for the father of a dear friend. The month that followed was a blur of me being stupid busy, J being stupid busy and neither of us being able to communicate without snapping at each other. You all know where that led. J left me after letting me know that he was no longer in love with me and hadn't been for a while. Must have been a relief for him to jump out of that particular emotional closet. Well now, as I type, I am reminiscing about my day. For the first time in my life, I walked a picket line. Yup. The union that I'm a part of is on strike and it looks like this might take a while. So now as I walk for 4 hours everyday--back and forth across the same stretch of road, occasionally switching direction to relieve the monotony--I wonder...what else will there be? Its not that I'm trying in any way to tempt fate or anger higher beings. Its just that as I'm walking this particular street corner--and my strike pay is far less then your average hooker I'd imagine--I am beginning to take this personally. I count my blessings, and I have many to count: beautiful and healthy children, pretty good personal health, an unextinguished sense of humour (bizarre as it might be) ... but, blessings aside. Can I say without courting further personal chaos that the past few months have frankly sucked? I'm sure that things could get worse so I won't even ask. I'm hoping that they will get better. At least I didn't get a parking ticket today having had to park off campus in a 2 hour lot. At least there was coffee made available. At least my shift allows me the time to drop off and pick up my children from school. At least I seem to be able to count on the very least. At least.

Choices

It's not that I'm complaining or anything but... After I put the kids to bed and settle down for the evening the choices of reading or television or cleaning or other chores and tasks that I haven't gotten to yet for whatever reason ... Well, these choices are starting to feel like I'm just putting in time. I begin to wonder and explore within myself why I am doing anything at all. I sit and stare into space and contemplate lonliness. My lonliness. I can't call anyone cuz what is there to say really? 'Hello, can you come over...I'm lonely.' Unfortunately, I really don't have people around me who are even close to being in the same boat. They have their own lives to live. I hear the kids giggling upstairs and I do my requisite 'get to bed you bums' but even as the words escape my lips I wonder if they will be the last words I utter out loud for the day. It's not that I had a lot of conversations with J. Especially during this past year. It's just that at least there was another big person around. Someone to share this space. Someone who I thought cared. To find out that he didn't...that he was probably just putting in time with me, well...
So I sit. And I think. And I feel. And I hope for a chance at more human contact tomorrow. And I count my blessings. And I breathe deeply until the rising panic subsides. I'll be ok. I can do this. What choice do I have?