what’s next?

It’s time for me to figure that out.

Now that the Era of the Accident has drawn to a close, it’s time to return to normal.

But I don’t have a normal any more.

It’s not like my life pre-accident still exists.

I’m going through this bizarre let down – the denouement, if you will.

This is the time, after the crisis, where things are supposed to shake out.

But nothing has shaken out just yet.

Limbo

It’s like I’ve suddenly realized that there is no going back – not one thing is that same. I can say what doesn’t exist any more but I’m having a harder time saying what does exist.

I have a fucking empty nest.

I have a job that I can do blindfolded and I’m no longer crying every day so no more excitement there.

Both my parents are holding steady for today.

In a way, I’m feeling purpose-less. Everything was about the accident and making sure my boys were okay. I couldn’t focus too much on the rest of my world because every bit of energy was going into the family. I couldn’t plan anything because I didn’t know if my son was going to be in jail or not.

And now, he’s not in jail and is doing everything he’s supposed to be doing, his brother is rowing boats in Utah, and number three is holding down a steady job and he’s my drama-less kid so he’s not going to be my cause.

I’m not needed like I was a month ago.

What’s a girl to do?

I feel aimless.

And…

Another way to look at it is that I have no strings attached. I’m free.

And I don’t know what the fuck to do with that.

It’s a good thing – don’t get me wrong. How many mothers of three, at fifty-three, get to do whatever they want; no kids to monitor, no husband to please, no pigschickenshorsessteers to feed.

It’s a big wide world out there and quite honestly, it’s a bit disconcerting.

There’s a time in a young mother’s life when the kids become just a little more independent and self-sufficient. Mom has a bit of time on her hands and suddenly, she is faced with the question, “Who am I?”

That’s often when women have another baby.

I am not going to have a baby.

But, I do get to ask myself the same question and answer it however I want.

And the weirdest thing is that I feel like I know myself better than I ever have before – I really like myself right now. But I still don’t know the answer.

I’m going to say it out loud…

I think I’m having a midlife crisis.

I just got another tattoo. I pierced my nose but didn’t stick with it. I moved. I’ve smoked a ton of grass. I’ve already dated the much younger man.

I have not purchased a sports car, nor have I cut off all of my hair.

But if it looks and smells like a midlife crisis…

Gawd, I’m a fucking cliché.

 

 

The answer

The question:

Is it ever okay to wear socks with sandals?

Opinions tend to vary, and are also, quite strong.

Not a lot of gray area.

Until now.

The answer that bridges the gap:

Yes, it is okay to wear socks with sandals as long as the socks are glittery.

when is it a song

There’s a woman in town who I think is totally cool.

She seems like she’s pretty good at most things and she’s funny and kind and smart and beautiful and I think she’s got her shit together way more than I do which I always admire in a person.

Anyway, besides all of that other stuff she is also a song writer and probably a really good one at that.

We were talking about it one day and she said, “A song doesn’t become a song until it becomes somebody’s song.”

If it doesn’t resonate with someone, then it’s just words and ink blots.

Hot damn, did that resonate with me.

I realized that it’s the same for me with my writing. It’s why a blog is so satisfying – much more so than tackling  the book that I am avoiding writing.

I write something, I hit publish, and then I get comments, or at least a couple of “likes” on Facebook, and I feel like I’ve written something of quality.

Please don’t burst my bubble.

It sustains me as a writer to feel like I am on the right track when I put my words out there in the world.

And the human connection is what separates a journal-er from a writer. The writer is looking for a response – preferably a positive one, but not necessarily.

For example: “Why the fuck do you pee on the ground?” is just as important to me as “I too, like to pee on the ground.”

The feeling of finding common ground with another person – whether I know them or not – and even if it’s just for a brief moment – is intoxicating.

It makes me feel what the Buddhists describe as one soul.

More importantly, it makes me feel like less of a nut job.

So, thank you to ______ for putting words to my experience as a scribe.

You really are so cool.