Why don't I write more often?

I ask myself this question all the time and don't have a great answer. I was in a writing group for years (love you Inkblots!) and that was a tremendous experience for me but when we sputtered out and went our separate ways, I just sort of put down my pen. Shame on me. I love to write. And I do write a lot for work but it's not the same as spending time baring part of your soul. I think one of my main problems is that what I really intended this blog to be, in the very beginning, was an outlet for me to seek revenge and wreak havoc on those who I feel let me down. Not petty grievances mind you - big, heavy, horrible can't-come-back from kind of relationship breakdowns were what I most wanted to focus on and unload on the unsuspecting world.

That's been several years ago now and I am 13% wiser and definitely older. I've forgiven scores of people who probably don't care whether I forgive them or not. They haven't apologized or asked for forgiveness but I waved the magic wand and relented, let go of all the rage that simmered beneath the surface. That doesn't mean we'll ever be reconciled (do NOT call me for coffee) but it does mean that no more of my energy or power goes into those sad stories or the people who helped write them.

And who really wanted to read those toxic tales anyway? Sure, some of them would have been would have been a fabulous reads but who is better at the end? I might have had a few tiny moments of glee upon hitting publish and sending that evil arrow out in the world, hoping it found it's intended target and left a mark but is that really the best I've got? The answer is no - I can and am doing better than that. I deleted all (most) of those little daggers and have moved on.

What I need to share is the outrageously great moments in my everyday life. I could have an entire volume called "Stupid Boy Tricks" because I've survived so many of those that I should win a tiara or tattoo or something. That is where the magic is and that is where I choose to dwell these days.

Think I'll try to start small and challenge myself to a single post a week. Given my track record since I started this blog, I'd predict epic failure but lately, I've been on a tear. I've gave up all candy for Lent (you can't really imagine how tough that is for me, as I sit and eat roll upon roll of Smarties as I write this), cleared the beds by the creek in the backyard, and completed the "30 Days of Abs" and "6 weeks to Stop Being a Slug" programs so I'm pretty hopped up on success.

Watch Out.

I'd like to stab her in the eyeball with my pen

There are countless women that have occasionally caused me to utter this unfriendly comment under my breath so this is about no one in particular but many all at once . . .
1) Those who no longer let their children play with mine after my ex and I divorced so as to avoid explaining that life change to their children . . . a true shame since we get along better than any divorced sitcom couple (and many real, married couples) and would actually be a lovely example of divorced parents who like each other and really take care of their kids.
2) Those who see me in Super Target and do the quick look away then retreat as if they didn't see me. Now on some level I can appreciate this maneuver because I hate to fake some lameass conversation when I can't make an unseen escape of my own but if you see me, be a big girl and say hi.
3) Those living through their children and thinking somehow that's makes them more (pick any and all that apply): interesting, talented, athletic, good-looking, young, thin (quit dressing like a 15 year old), intellectually gifted, etc. Your kids might be all that, but you're still their mom and their greatness doesn't magically transfer back a generation. It's great to be proud of our kids but deal with a little reality check: not every child is as special as his/her mama thinks.

So, the next time you saunter over in your sad mom jeans and tell the gathered throng about your awesome offspring, know that when you walk away I will turn to the trusted lady on my right, "I'd like to stab her in the eyeball with my pen."

The One that Hurts the Most

There is someone I miss every day. It's not someone I've lost to illness or old age but to betrayal and cowardice. Although she has a coven of women to call her own, she was probably my best friend for more than three years. I guess it was me that needed a good friend more. And she was a good friend. We really helped each other through some down days. She found me to be wise and calm, she was fun and more dangerous. She was close with my husband and our families loved each other. Then one day she disappeared from my life - snuffed out our friendship like some cheap, smelly candle. The pain of that loss was unbearable, still hurts to this day and always will. I heard her spineless reasons and lame ass excuses; her semi-public rantings on Facebook, her sideways explanations to mutual friends and I although I understand, we're forever lost to each other. It will never be okay and time can never fix this one. How sad. So I've disappeared her from my life - won't even acknowledge her when we accidentally pass in public. She's the phantom of a dear friend I wish I'd never met.