I have small children. They make messes, like all small kids do. Tonight, I found myself picking up change after a lesson between two of the kids on money. They finding a train track in the hall. Don’t forget laundry, which is definitely getting more sex than I am. By 9 p.m. I am tired, cranky and it is time for the kids to be in the land of nod.
I am still puzzled at how I could once stay up to see the sunrise, dance until 3 a.m., camp out of a car and still make it back on Monday. Remember that popular (in certain circles) Smith’s song? “Everyday is like Sunday?” Yeah, my every day feels like Monday. A crappy side note: There was a girl Sunday who ran around the same parties I did. She was pretty but would lay down with anything. Her so-called friends would laugh and say “Every Lay is like Sunday.” Another mind fart.
I am tired I had surgery on my leg. It sucked. I am so glad to not be a perpetually ill person. Well, discounting my crazy. You know I had a lover who once said the more psycho the girl, the better the sex. He is DY, and I think he would know. Amazing what smooth charm, an above average vocabulary and a nice nest egg will bring you. I was never in the running for a future Mrs. Y. Sometimes, I look around and think why couldn’t I have been less me. But, I know my happiness is in my truth.
I am a romantic and I love, love love the ABC series “Once Upon a Time.”