It seems that in the past few years I find myself saying, “Christmas has to be different this year.”
For years, I prided myself on creating the same, classical and elegant Christmas every year for my children. Isn’t that the point — to create memories and tradition? I rejoiced as I strung the tiny blue and white lights and set up the tree and the nativity.
Lately, Christmas has become a minefield of emotion and memory. [Read more…]
Whoa! If it’s one thing I’ve learned from blogging…people love a whiff of misery. I’m expecting a tsunami of hits on this post. It’s human nature: people like to read about those who are worse off than they are so they can feel better about themselves. Or, we like to read about someone who has the same problem, so we feel we’re in the same boat.
Well, no misery here except, very simply: At this august moment in my life, I can look back and say: I have never been properly, truly loved by a man.
One day last week I cried so much I had to drink tall glasses of water for the rest of the day to rehydrate myself. I cried for different things that both were and weren’t happening to me. I won’t bore you with my “stuff.” I’m sure you have your own.
I invoked Tony Robbins’ “90 second rule” — but I turned it into a four hour rule, because 90 seconds seemed a little too short for me (haha). The 90 second rule is to let yourself feel your pain, sorrow, suffering for 90 seconds.
Why do we love hospital shows so much when the reality is so not nice? That’s putting it mildly! For as long as I can remember there’s always been a medical show on the air — because doctors and hospitals bring on the drama. Unwanted drama.
I won’t dwell on boring medical blah blah, but here’s what’s happening. After five years of pain that I ignored because, who wants to pay attention to pain…I’ll be having a hip replacement this week. Not how I planned to spend the Easter hols.
Jealousy sounds so much nicer in French, doesn’t it? Romantic. Poetic.
In another twist, jalousie in English refers to a “blind or shutter made of angled slats.” Go figure.
As a femme d’un certain age, I’m mortified to admit that I’m prone to occasional whiffs of jealousy envy. How embarrassing is that? It’s true that life is always like high school over and over again — same cliques, same emotions.