It’s the new year – 2008. This is the time when a great many of us look back on the past year while dreaming of the next.
I wonder if I will ever stop getting the, “Isn’t it difficult being a single parent Catherine?” comment from sad looking strangers. Usually when people ask me this question, I want to hang garlic around my neck, dawn a cross and scream, “No!” Frankly, I think it is more difficult raising a husband.
When I look around a many of the married couples girlfriends I interact with, I am often relieved that I am not participating in the institution known as marriage. Instead of blissful love, it looks (to me) more like having to dig a ditch, in the snow, with my hands – no gloves, as the universe throws lighting at my head while 40,000 strangers scream.
Is that all?
OK, that’s possibly an exaggeration.
Relationships SEEM like a whole lot of work … which my lazy ass doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.
Just give me water torture for 100 please.
Life is me and Brian … or me, Brian and one of his friends …who are all pretty happy when I feed them popcorn and leave them alone to play video games. I then am able to write, hear myself think, paint my toenails, call girlfriends, dawn my holy pajamas as soon as I walk in the door, scratch my butt, wear old non-matching socks and quite possibly pick my teeth… CONSTANTLY if I wish. I like that freedom.
By the way my middle name is sexy … so bite me.
2007 saw the end to many of my cherished friend’s real estate careers and some of their opulent lifestyles. Not mine, but then, I never really had one of “those” lifestyles. I tend to like hanging with my son verses handling loans 24/7 while eating and peeing (trust me – many loan officers do this non-stop to get rich). I watched in shock and sadness as the media-panic-gossip-journalistic-feeding-frenzy sent lending investors racing into hibernation. I fear lenders are now so afraid to lend that the average person won’t be able to finance a tube of toothpaste for the next few years – should they have the inclination.
Just get used to using salt and baking soda.
During this real estate meltdown, I was on the receiving end of wonderful gestures from many of my friends. I watched as they did everything from deliver groceries to my doorstep to ordering (and paying for) my thyroid medication. Some took me out to wonderful dinners, others found job openings for me, while others mailed me checks. My own mother hid money in my home in places I could find. She’s a silly one to think I wouldn’t figure out where it came from. Yeah, like I can hide money that my son couldn’t find in 30 seconds or less. He’s a monetary bloodhound.
In 2007 I transferred my AOL journal to this, my own blog and website for the world to throw up on read. I must say, except for a few whispering dry heaves, the bulk of readers have been absolutely fabulous. This was my dream, to write for the world to see. I held this dream in a small corner of my heart for so many years that blood had long stopped pumping there, due to the lack of attention. My dream had long died, turned purple and dried up, until something traumatic happened, forcing me to this computer to write.
And the rest they say, is history.
In the past twelve months I came damn close to seeing my literary dreams take off into the big leagues, but timing and location ultimately interfered. Sometimes it felt as if I was living a fantastic dream. I’ve settled into a non-profit, support-the-arts type job to provide stability for Brian while I continue to chase this dream. Brian is convinced I will be the next Erma Bombeck.
Speaking of letting a child down Brian, I have watched in shock and disbelief as he has gone from my innocent, free-loving boy into the attitude slinging “WHHHhhhhhaaaaaaattttt?” young man. I do love him more than ever, but there are those rare moments when I wish he’d sleep rather than talk.
Will he EVER pick up his dirty, disgusting gym socks without me asking??
I’ve burned many of his dirty socks in the fireplace rather than deal with washing them. They give off some sort of noxious gas when combined with a flame forces me to open most of the doors and windows for fear of a spontaneous gas combustion. We should bottle whatever that nastiness is and bomb our enemies. They’d give up in a day.
2007 was the year we adopted a cat, which proves, as a parent I am still a sucker for the “I promise I will take care of her” line. I think of it whenever I am filling her empty water dish. Speaking of new pets, I can say without doubt that I didn’t kill any of Brian’s pets in 2007 either. For a few years there I thought my real career should be that of Pet Funeral Director, since I killed so many of Brian’s pets that my roses rival that of the Queen’s for the carcasses quality fertilizer underground. Oh come on people, do Hermit Crabs, slugs, spiders, polliwogs, frogs, turtles and goldfish REALLY qualify as “pets”? Frankly, I can’t raise anything unless it can scream it needs food…
In 2007 I did lose my Aunt Carmen and Uncle Bill to the other world. NO! They are not buried in my garden.
Speaking of burials.
My brother became engaged in 2007, proving there is no shortage of miracles and lunacy.
Speaking of miracles.
Brian sang in a play.
His ex-jock father did not have a massive coronary heart attack.
Speaking of surviving.
And 2008, what next you ask?
Brian turns 13.
I think that is enough thank you.
Who cares if there is an election.
Just give me a Prozac-red wine drip now.
Happy New Year to all. May you have a year free from dirty gym socks, teenage attitude and strange creatures brought home to be “pets”.
Until next time.
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