Unorthodox in Every Sense

Call it a burning desire for normalcy (or as close as one can get to such a notion) or maybe there’s a lack of finger painting and apron wearing in my life. But Gloria Steinem, Hilary Clinton, and Oprah forgive me, but I have a longing to be a wife and mother, not a doctor, lawyer, or business executive.

 

Yes, I realize that I have just taken women back about 60 years with that statement. How I got this way is not a mystery.

 

I am the only child of a single mother.  We averaged 5 years maximum per living situation. I was lulled to sleep by visions of remodeled Victorians, gardens and packs of golden retrievers running through my head. You would think as an act of solidarity I would all about the “Strong woman, kick ass and take names, bring home the bacon and fry it up” mentality. Alas, no. Being strong sucks ass. It’s hard and lonely. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even bin Laden.

 

My mother and I were partners in almost everything. I was doing my laundry and hers when I was twelve. Her own stories of teenage rebellion were my cautionary tales. I have been her designated driver more than once. I talk to her all the time and tell her everything (usually when she’s begging me not to). Her friends became my friends, making hard to like or understand my peers. It made me feel old.

 

I thought college would be like Mecca. A place filled with people older than me that I could relate to. Nope. So I changed schools. Then I changed schools again. I’m surrounded by over tanned under read children no matter where I go. Lame.

 

Enter Jason. My love, my life, my chief form of entrainment. He put a ring on it about a month ago. His past makes mine look like a Norman Rockwell painting (can you say HOMELESSNESS?). We live together in central Illinois where we both go to school, he works in the meat department at a grocery store and plays Magic: The Gathering. I bake, read, cook, do laundry, go to Zumba, and, oh yeah, work as a phone sex operator to help make ends meet. Didn’t see that coming, did you?

 

The bottom line is this; there’s little I find as satisfying as making a home for the two of us. One day the three, four, or five of us.

 

These are my adventure, musings, and general forms of self entertainment.

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