This Gets Messy

I kind of feel like I make God roll his eyes in frustration at least 10 times per day. 

Maybe more. 

Like, I know God doesn't swear...but he might let out a little "fffffff" out once in a while in my general direction before he catches himself and bites his lip. 

Because I'm difficult.

In the past year, seemingly without any (okay, much) input from me I have:

1. Finished paying off over $10K after a very unsuccessful relationship
2. Scored my dream job
3. Had a 5lb, 6 inch diameter *benign* tumor removed (along with my uterus...)
4. Been told I have glaucoma and then told all previous signs of glaucoma have gone
5. Found a home in my dream neighbourhood, so Q can go to our dream high school and play for our dream minor hockey league
6. Lost 10lbs...

And those are just the MAJOR things.  I've also seen my BFF twice, been to Toronto to see the fam jam, went to Hawaii with Q for a week, and booked a two week vacation that takes us across the country.

That reads like a pretty fantastic year.  And of course, I am so so *so* thankful.  And I know that I have been blessed because all of these things have been beyond my power (especially the weight loss...I have no idea how that happened).  Paying off the G's, I'm not going to lie, was realllllllly hard...but I did it and it's done.

Here's the thing...

I feel like the kid at Christmas who just woke up, ran downstairs, opened all the amazing presents and then looks around at all the gifts with big elephant tears and a wobbly chin and says, "but where's the unicorn?  I really, really, really wanted an unicorn.  I *asked* for an unicorn."

I really thought my unicorn (a.k.a. husband) would have shown up by now. 

This is where God rolls his eyes.

When Mr. Ex and I broke up 9 (nine!) years ago, I had this overwhelming sense of hope that my husband was just around the corner...but here we are nine years later, and my hope has turned to apathy and cynicism and bitterness.

Our move this time is a little bittersweet, because I said the last time I moved was that the next time I moved I would be married.

I AM NOT MARRIED

And not only am I not married, I am nowhere close to being married.  I'm not even dating.

Some people don't need/want to be married.  They're good on their own. 

I am not that person. 

I crave that companionship.  I don't want to be making all the decisions anymore.  I don't want to be the one that unclogs the toilet.  I don't want to be the one to blame every time I forget something at the grocery store.  I want to cuddle.  I want to Netflix and chill, people.  I want to go on vacations together (I've never actually done that, can you believe it?!?!).  I want to make horrible dinners and burn the food.  I want someone else to pay a freaking bill once in a while.

I feel like if I *had* a uterus it would be shrivelling up by. the. day.  It would look like a raisin.  I'm not even kidding, you guys.  I'm not 25 anymore.  I am getting older by the day.  My age almost starts with a 4 and ends with an 0.  Men my age are looking for 25 year old virgins who want to start a family.  You know what that leaves me?  Probably with pervs and 60 year old's...haha. ha. My life feels like the best years are behind me. 

I'm *trying* to find inspiration and I'm trying to not feel sorry for myself and I am trying to feel overwhelmingly blessed and thankful and happy.

WHY can't I just be happy?

Okay....you guys totally felt it this time too...

God just rolled His eyes again. 

Grey Hairs Suck ~ and Other Revelations

I found another grey hair last night.

I think part of what is so shocking when I find a grey hair is that I'm not actually looking for it.  I'm usually doing my makeup and I'll see a glisten in the mirror out of the corner of my eye.  A wiry glisten and I'll just know.  "Oh no," I think.  Not again.

And of course I'll pull it out but that doesn't mean it wasn't there in the first place. 

Now I feel bad for all those times I told my mother I thought grey hair on a woman looked *distinguished*.  What a load of BS.  It looks old.  That's what it looks like.  Old.  Dye those mo-fos...that's my new motto.  Or the times I thought, "Wrinkles are just memories of laughter."  Again, BULL.  Wrinkles are signs that you squinted too much in the sun, or frowned.  Your skin is not so forgiving because it is old and so now your skin remembers every little thing. I will most definitely consider Botox (when I can afford it).

It's another reminder that 35 is waiting for me right around the corner.  It's another mid-life sign.

Despite that whole rant, I've had a little change of heart when it comes to my most recent *blah* phase.  Yes I am older than I've ever been. But that's not going to change.  Because now, I'm older than I was when I wrote that first sentence (geez, now I'm just freaking myself out).

I've had to remind myself of something very important that I happened to forget while in the midst of all this *old* turmoil.

Happiness is a Choice.  

Just as whether I want to be a blonde or brunette is a choice, I have to choose my point of view.  There are so many things in this life that can get you down...debt woes, self image problems, global warming, poverty, death...the list goes on and on.  You (or I) can choose to focus on those things, or you (I) can choose to focus on the blessings.  So there's a nasty rumour going around work about me (I know it's not true), so I'm a little bored at work (I can find challenges).  I am right where I'm meant to be right now.

And so I choose to be happy.  I choose to turn my frown upside down.  I choose to be the change I wish to see in the world.  

It's true that I've never been on a mission to Africa (like this book I'm reading right now, Kisses from Katie...I have permanent goosebumps from reading this woman's story.  I highly, highly, highly recommend it.  Like if you only read one book this year, read Kisses from Katie).  It's true I've not pulled a drowning man from the ocean.  It's true I've even witnessed a car accident and then driven away instead of giving my name as a witness (eeps, I still feel guilty about that one...)  I can choose to be kind to everyone, giving to those who seem to deserve it the least, and willing to make a difference.

It's the small things that matter.  Small things done with great love. 

I don't want to justify doing NOTHING.  Doing nothing is poor form when we're given this awesome experience called life.  But I do want to remind myself, mostly, that not everyone can be a brain surgeon.  Not everyone can run into a burning building and save a mother pregnant with triplets.  Not everyone can thwart terrorist attacks or make decisions for a country. 

Everyone can be kind.  Everyone can be thoughtful.  Everyone can be a listening ear.

I was getting so depressed because here I am working in mail.  For as far as my eye can see, there are parcels.  Boxes and boxes and boxes.  None of the boxes are filled with hearts for transplant.  Most of them are filled with purchases people bought on-line.  Whatever.  The point was I couldn't imagine anyone feeling called to work in a post office.  How could I make a difference in the world in a post office?  I started to think that no one really feels called to work in a gas station, either.  No one feels the need to haul garbage for a living.  Someone working in Tim Horton's probably didn't dream of serving coffee to people since they were little.  There are jobs that need to be done in this world that don't necessarily seem important.  It's not the job that matters, it is the attitude and care with which we do said job.  

So I can do a mundane job.  I can do a mundane job with a crappy attitude.  Or I can do a so-so job with a crazy, out of this world happy attitude that immediately disarms people and tears down walls they've built up over the years.  

I think the real tragedy would be missing out on those experiences. 

And finding another grey hair. 

That would also be a tragedy.

18

How old were you when you realized you weren't 18 anymore?

I was 32.  As in...just the other day I looked in the mirror and realized I'm not 18 anymore.  Which is really weird, because I still think I'm 18.  I feel 18.  And when people ask me how old I am (which is fairly rare the older I get...) the first age that pops in my head is 18.  And then I remember that I'm not.  The second age that pops in my head is 23.  But 32?  That's like my 4th or 5th choice.

When did this happen?  I have crows feet (which I don't particularly mind...I think people with crows feet look kinder...)  And I'm pretty sure I have a few grey hair, but I tip my hairdresser extra nice when he tells me I don't.  It's like I went to bed 18 and woke up 32.  Where did the last 15 or 16 years go? I'm afraid if I blink, I'll miss the next 15 years as well.

It seems absolutely ridiculous to me that people trust me with adult-ish things.  Like raising a child - I still feel like a child, how can I raise one?  When did I get things like credit cards and cheques?  Can you believe they let me drive a car?  I have cable bills and utilities and a TFSA.  I have responsibilites.  Adults have those. 

I wonder if I should stop doing certain things....now that I'm 32 (well, now that I realize I'm 32...I've been 32 for half a year already...)  Is sparkly pink eye shadow appropriate when you're 32, or only when you're 18?  Can I still call people 'Dude'?  Because I really like that word.  Dude.  Can I still pretend I'm a ballerina?  I've found that nothing cuts tension quite like pretending to be a ballerina while saying, "Look, I'm a ballerina!"  Can I wear dark, dark blue nail polish?  And keep it on even when it chips a bit?  Can I have flowers painted on my toe nails?  Can I accessorize with bling?  Can I still chew Hubba Bubba and blow bubbles and get it stuck in my hair?  Is it wrong that I identify with the lyrics in Taylor Swift's songs???  (Don't worry, I stopped wearing mini-skirts just before Q was born.)

This freaks me out: When I look at a guy, think, "wow, he's cute..." and then realize that he's probably 15 years younger than me.  Or when I walk past a group of girls in the mall and feel intimidated because they're, like, for sure the cool girls at school.  That's weird. 

Even weirder...in 8 years I'll be 40.  And there is nothing I can do to stop it.  I drive myself insane just thinking that.  40.  I know it's not really old.  I know 32 isn't really old.  But when you still feel like you're 18 and you still think like you're 18....well, then 40 is old.   I've not heard it said that 32 is the new 18, but maybe I'll start saying it.  I mean, someone started the whole 40 is the new 30 or brown is the new black...and now look, we all believe it...

And I really hope this isn't a midlife crisis...because I'm really hoping to be here way past 64....