What I Would Have Missed Today

Today my son had the day off of school.  We made plans to golf and we did it.  We got up and got out of the house by 8 a.m.!  Only 9 holes, but we spent two beautiful sunny hours in the fresh air laughing and bonding.  He is still the sweetest, most easy going kid and I am so grateful we still have fun together now that he is a teenager.

Later in the afternoon, I went to my daughter’s last middle school volleyball game.  She was terrific and I love watching her play!  On our way home, we had a conversation about a friend she is having problems with.  The friend has become annoying and everyone is mad at her.  We talked about how this might feel and what she could control about this situation.  I suggested starting with my favorite advice “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all”.  (Advice I have to remind myself about sometimes, but try to follow.)    She confessed she has a bad habit of doing this when she is annoyed with someone.  I bribed her with Itune songs on the days she goes all day without saying anything negative about this person.  I told her she has to be honest about it and she promised she would be.  At least this will be in the back of her mind as she navigates this relationship.  There was a lot more to the conversation and it felt good to share.

If I had been drinking, this is what I would have missed.  I will remember this tomorrow. 

Tftd

 

Things don't change. You change your way of looking, that's all.  Carlos Castaneda

Ttftd

It is never too late to be what you might have been.  George Eliot 

Cheating?

I haven't been blogging (about myself) because I haven't felt like I had anything to say. Nothing profound, or clever or interesting was going on in my life. Which I think is the root of my problem. I drink out of boredom and guilt and shame about being bored and useless and become bored and useless because I'm drinking. Now I do have some news to tell; I have stopped drinking. Well, almost. I started therapy with an addiction specialist in February. Today is 32 days since I started on new anti-depressants, and Naltrexone, a medication which eliminates alcohol cravings. And it does. It really, really does. For me. In those 32 days, I can count on one hand the number of glasses of wine I have consumed and each was away from home at a social function. I went 21 days without drinking at all, until a reunion event where I had one small glass of white wine I didn't even finish. And that has also been the case on the other occasions. And when I drank, I appreciated the taste of the wine, not the buzz, which never came. In the past, I generally drank before the occasion, to prepare for the occasion, drank at the occasion, and more when I got home. And I had started drinking earlier and earlier each day. Which brings me to the question: Am I cheating? I have tried for three plus years to stop, made it a week or two, and once almost 90 days. And of course, relapsed with a vengeance, drinking more and more often than before trying to quit. I went to AA, pretty faithfully, got a sponsor, twice, but it never stuck. I tried to reconcile a HP, be willing, do the steps...it just hasn't clicked for me. So I am feeling proud of my progress but bad about failing AA. And as if I have let all my cyber sober friends down. In the meantime, I am still seeing my therapist, Rachel, working on the issues which may be the reason I drink (other that I am an alcoholic, which I am not unwilling to admit) . It is not exactly a step program but I am facing issues within me and my life. I won't say that I'm never doing AA again or that I'll stop drinking by staying on this drug forever. I don't know what's next right now. An obvious question is why bother with just one at all? I don't know that right now either. What I do know is that this is what is working for me now, and I am happy to be feeling more present and worthwhile. What do you think?

My Girl

...is awesome.

Ode to Mary

March 11, 1956 - July 15, 2008

Almost four years ago on July 15, 2008, my BFF since middle school died. Cause of death was not officially labeled suicide or alcoholism, but I believe she died from both or either. She was found unconscious at the bottom of her basement stairs, and was taken off of life support two days later, never regaining consciousness.
Mary and I went way back, to eighth grade where we were both new girls to the local Catholic elementary. She was an army brat whose dad retired from the military and took a job as Deputy D. A. We were both children of older parents, new to the school, and ihad a crush on the same eighth grade boy, which gave us much in common. She had a twin sister which was fascinating to me, but they were not close. And so our friendship blossomed.
We graduated from that Catholic elementary and went on to one of the two all girl Catholic schools in our city. We both scored high on the entrance exam and earned scholarships. Our families carpooled so we saw even more of each other.
Our high school career consisted of experimentation with boys, alcohol and drugs. I was more adventurous than she, so she was usually following in my footsteps. And I could always hold my liquor and drugs better. We told each other about everything; boys, sex, sorrows and successes...
After high school, we went our separate ways but always kept in touch. We partied together on college break, double dated, and even worked summer jobs together. In our twenties we became roommates, and partied hard, together and apart. We took a trip to Mexico where we had the time of our lives. I was with her when she met her husband, in a bar we frequented every weekend. They were married five years later, while I in the meantime, got married and divorced. We were in each other's weddings.
Through it all, we kept in touch and had a yearly out of town reunion where we would travel for a party weekend with a transplanted old friend. We kept this up for years, even after kids. It was our "bad girl" weekend, particularly Mary's, who was living in a reural area and didn't get out much. In retrospect, it was a clue to her future alcohol problem, which I had first caught a glimpse of on our trip to Mexico.
It was as if alcohol made her a different person. Total loss of inhibition and sensibility, and there were blackouts, always.
When we weren't together, I assumed she was living a happy existence with hubby and only child, and we'd catch up on our trip or phone calls now and then. I had my kids eventually and even the annual trip fizzled out.
The last few times I spoke to Mary, she told me things that were incomprehensible to me. Her husband had thrown her out and had full custody. She was a practicing wicken living with a new love. She had conversations with her dead father. I listened helplessly and chose not to get involved. I had my own twin toddlers and elderly parents keeping me busy and no time for that drama. Eventually we lost touch.
When I received the call from her sister, she only left a message to call her back for news about Mary, but I knew right away. It was heartbreaking and awful.
I often felt guilty for "abandoning" her, as if I really could have done anything. Part of my be all things to all people syndrome, especially your best friends.
I have learned in my struggle towards sobriety that only the drinker can change the downward spiral. And it is really, really hard. It really does ruin lives, and not just the victims', but families' too.
I wasn't there for Mary and can't be again, but I can offer up my sobriety to her and hope I help some others by example.

Tftd

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” ― Albert Einstein

Tftd

When you think you have everything you want, you should wish that nothing changes.

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

~ Wendell Berry

Thanks to Jena for sharing this poem.

I asked my son today, while we were waiting for his school bus, what one fun thing he was looking forward to doing today. He's a thoughtful kid, so he took a moment to think about it, and then answered, "nothing." It made me feel so guilty. As a recovering mom, this happens to me frequently. I wonder how much I have contributed to this lethargy of living.

Tftd

"I have found that most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." — Abraham Lincoln

When I was 12

The first time I got drunk, I was 12. I smoked my first joint at 13. Sounds like the beginning of a speaker meeting (Earl G and Patti O come to mind) but it's not. Now that I think about it, both times can be attributed to my older brother, who ironically turned out to be a normie!

Today's Thought

You cannot be lonely if you like the person you're alone with.

- Wayne Dyer

Reading

Tonight my sweet 12 year old, D2, read to me. We reviewed his grades and he's slipping so I told him he has to read to me now, every night, for 10 minutes. It turned out not to be a punishment, but lovely. We used to do this in elementary school as an assignment. It felt like a chore then, to him, and me, because we had to do it and I hadn't started pre-empty nesting. Contemplating about all the things we'll never do together again , all the things they have outgrown. All the things I am trying to recapture now. I will be a mess when they go to college...

25 REASONS I LOVE MY MOTHER

1. My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE.
"If you're going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning."

2. My mother taught me RELIGION.
"You better pray that will come out of the carpet."

3 . My mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL.
"If you don't straighten up, I'm going to knock you into the middle of next week!"

4. My mother taught me LOGIC.
"Because I said so, that's why."

5. My mother taught me MORE LOGIC.
"If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you're not going to the store with me."

6. My mother taught me FORESIGHT.
"Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you're in an accident."

7. My mother taught t me IRONY.
"Keep crying, and I'll give you something to cry about."

8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.
"Shut your mouth and eat your supper."

9. My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM.
"Will you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!"

10. My mother taught me about STAMINA.
"You'll sit there until all that spinach is gone."

11. My mother taught me about WEATHER.
"This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it."

12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY.
"If I told you once, I've told you a million times. Don't exaggerate!"

13. My mother taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE.
"I brought you into this world, and I can take you out."

14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION.
"Stop acting like your father!"

15. My mother taught me about ENVY.
"There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don't have wonderful parents like you do."

16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION .
"Just wait until we get home."

17. My mother taught me about RECEIVING.
"You are going to get it when you get home!"

18. My mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE.
"If you don't stop crossing your eyes, they are going to freeze that way."

19. My mother taught me ESP.
"Put your sweater on; don't you think I know when you are cold?"

20. My mother taught me HUMOR.
"When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don 't come running to me."

21. My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT.
"If you don't eat your vegetables, you'll never grow up."

22. My mother taught me GENETICS.
"You're just like your father."

23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS.
"Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a barn?"

24. My mother taught me WISDOM.
"When you get to be my age, you'll understand."

25. And my favorite: My mother taught me about JUSTICE.
"One day you'll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!"


I do love her, really!

Day 23

Made it through the day...meh.

Turning it over...

Except for the dark, he's fearless!

Everyone should have a B

My son still sleeps with his stuffed animal, who we affectionately call "the B". My son is afraid of the dark and "the B" is his protection from those things that go bump in the night. Of course he would die if he knew I told anyone (he's 12 now). "The B" still travels with us!

I still have those days when I worry about those things that go bump in the night and struggle with different ways to deal with them. Recently, my Higher Power and the love of my family have been my greatest comfort.

What's yours?

Three...?

In October of 1998, at six weeks pregnant, we went in for our first ultra sound. When you are an older mother in an egg donor program, you get lots of them. Which is really cool. For the first one, however, we were very nervous. We would be looking for sacs with beating hearts and counting. One? two? Possibly three? We had been on pins and needles while we waited to find out. It seemed like we had been on this journey forever already with the ultimate goal of parenthood. One would be great, two would be terrific, but three was terrifying. Logistically, having three babies at once seemed overwhelming. I hold one, he holds one, but who holds number three? There would always be what the Old Soul referred to as "one man out". It just wasn't what we signed up for. And yet, we had. We had gone to extraordinary measures to have a child, or two; how could we not heartily welcome a third? You are probably asking, then why put in three at all? This was of course done to increase the chances of pregnancy. The more embryos implanted, the better chances of impregnation. Donor egg In Vitro success in 1998 was much lower than it is now and besides eager prospective parents, fertility doctors were all about maintaining good stats to boost their portfolios. We agreed to three, hoping for at least one. We got two!

Why I drink

There's a lot of talk out there about moms who drink. It's a hard job, the daily routine of thankless tasks: changing, feeding, bathing, napping, burping, bouncing, dressing, undressing, changing, napping and feeding that feels like it's for life, that a mom will always have to be there for that tiny person.
I was there once, twelve years ago, with two tiny persons. The Old Soul and I call them the black years. He started a new business 2 months before they were born and so was gone a good part of the time in the early months. Don't get me wrong, when he was there, he was awesome and hands on for everything but it was still hard. It made getting up and going out the door everyday (which I had done ) look like a piece of cake.
I keep trying to remember how much I drank then. It doesn't seem like it was so much, although I do remember pumping and throwing the milk away because I had drank wine and didn't want to give it to the babies.
I remember happy hours with the neighbors, but never drinking alone, and never being obsessed with when I could drink again.

I think my obsessive drinking started when my elderly mother became too ill to stay in her own home but not ill enough to die. I had to make all the choices about moving her and watch her go in and out of hospitals and skilled nursing rehab, and even hospice. My kids were eight and I was also juggling my real estate career and being office manager for my husband's latest new business which he started when the kids were four. I was more stressed than I had ever been in my life, even at my crappiest job.
I would visit her as often as possible, go to all the caregiver update meetings, and fret constantly if she was in the right place and was I doing the right thing. There are no right answers and so many woulda, shoulda, couldas. Previously, I had gone through exactly the same thing with my elderly dad; although my mom was there so it didn't all fall on my shoulders. I learned so much about the whole elder care scene that I was sure I knew it all. When it was my mom's turn, I found I didn't. I spun all the same wheels knowing the theoretical answers, with the same pitiful results. The system was broken and I felt I wasn't doing enough. It was my fault their quality of life in their declining years wasn't better. But I was just too tired to do more.

So I started drinking, heavily. After a day with mom, in the depressing place that was now her life, I looked so forward to the release and escape of that cold, crisp bottle of Chardonnay when I got home. I remember thinking this would only last until I got through this life chapter. When she was gone, I wouldn't need to drink so much.

My mom passed away in June of 2009. During my moms' decline, I had retired from real estate and working for my husband because when that became a three person job. I became a stay at home mom. And except for the 80+ days last spring and a few weeks stretches here and there, I have drank a bottle plus each and every day. Sometimes I start at 8 am.

I think a lot about why I do this. Boredom, resentment, sadness; I can't quite put my finger on it. I psychoanalyze my childhood and adolescence, my marriage, my existence. AA says I should get all my past resentments out and make amends. I just don't feel like I have that many, or they have gone away. I am afraid to explore further for the increased pain it will surely dredge up.

But I digress.

I started this piece to say that those baby days were hard and I can see why they would make a mom drink. I did some, but I wasn't in trouble then. The trouble now is, those precious babes are growing up and I am not on call anymore. Every day I realize somtehing we will never do again together. Hold them in my lap, go to the zoo, watch an animated kids' movie...
They can fix their own breakfast, they aren't scared to spend the night at a friends anymore, they go to school everyday and leave me at home with an empty void to fill. And lots of time to think about how I could have done better by everyone, my whole life.
When does that stop? And do I drink because of it, or is it so, because I drink?

Momo

I am always the old mother in the group. I have twenty years on many of my children's friends' moms. Of course it's always been this way; I was 43 when the twins were born. If I had a nickel for every time I was referred to as the grandma, well, don't get me started. Don't get me wrong; I have absolutely no regrets. And I have a youngish husband who keeps me young. And so do the kids. We just roll differently. And kinda backwards. For example, I am retired from two careers and now a stay at home mom. And we travel everywhere with the kids on awesome vacations that they may not even remember since they were so young. We are doing it now because by the time the kids leave home, we will be blue hairs and not as energetic as typical empty nesters.
We are fortunate that we have these luxuries. Sometimes I worry about the kids being spoiled, but they seem well grounded so far. So far I can keep up pretty well, skiing, rafting, jumping off waterfalls...I need to do it now because I may not be able to later.
Sometimes I feel like I have lived two lifetimes already. The before kids, urbanite career woman, and now the retired mom of twins whose most important job seems to be getting the kids from point A to B in a timely matter with the necessary equipment. Not an unimportant job, just a different job. I still wake up every day with the feeling that I am supposed to be somewhere. But really I just need to get the kids off to school and take care of the house. It's still a hard adjustment after rising by 5 or 6 each day and heading off to work. I wonder if I'll ever really get used to it. Maybe not, but I'll always be glad it turned out this way.

Hey! I got some sleep!

Day 8 and I am finally getting some sleep. Unfortunately, I am having strong cravings, but so far so good.

Yesterday, I had lunch with two old friends from my party down days. We get together once or twice a year, two if we're lucky. We live in the same state but far apart and all have busy lives. They are settled down older women now, the kind of friends you don't see often but when you do, it's solid.
I was the life of the party back then (30 something years ago and they remember it better than I.) We chuckled over some of my antics involving my many boyfriends and adventures we all took together. When the subject of alcohol came up, I told them I had to quit because I just looked forward to it too much everyday, that 5 o'clock drink. They were surprise but not aghast. We moved on to other topics and had a pleasant visit.
Earlier that day, driving the hour to my friend's house, I had a sort of epiphany. I realized that since I have been drinking so heavily, I had started to think in terms of the rest of my life being downhill. I mean what do you really have to look forward to at 55? That's how alcohol poisons your mind. I was listening to NPR and Elizabeth McGovern was being interviewed. She is making a comeback 20 years later after moving to London and raising a family. I was struck at how happy she sounded, and intelligent.
I had a glimpse of reinventing myself. How 55 wasn't old, I have young children, a young husband, and so much opportunity to do so many things. Money isn't an issue, I have plenty of free time and wonderful support from my family. What have I been thinking!?
Being sober this week has cleared the clouds a bit. And doing something, not isolating, and connecting with dear friends, even the drive there, was awesome. I have to remember that this week while I stay sober and move on.

Baby pursuit - Infertility still sucks 1998

In late spring, the anonymous donor pursuit began and it was not pretty. We would not meet her and we would not tell anyone we were using donor eggs, at least for now. In fact only my siblings knew we were even exploring treatment. Of course I was on my last nerve, so pretty much everything annoyed me; fertility treatment is very stressful and the lack of empathy at the clinic astounded me. But I digress. Anyway, we filled out an application describing what we looked like and what qualities we sought in a donor. After a long wait and many phone calls (of course we were anxious) they advised us that they didn't have any matches as there were no brunette, blue eyed donors available. For some reason, they got stuck on my brown hair and blue eyes, even though my husband's are green. They did have some blondes with green eyes who matched, did we want to pursue that? Duh? Even after 12 years, this event still sticks out more than any other of the humiliation; don't ask me why. They sent us some donor profiles, along with some very fuzzy, unrecognizable black and white pictures, and we chose a 26 year old green eyed blond with a college degree in psychology working as a counselor somewhere in our city...
After this, it was a go and we got on track. This was May. Simultaneously through the summer, the donor and I started hormone treatments. She to produce as many eggs as possible and I to prepare my uterus for implantation. The Old Soul had to give me shots in my backside and was amazingly good at it. At the end of August, the donor's eggs would be extracted and fertilized with The Old Soul's donation in a cup. ( I still can't believe he did it, twice, but that's another funny story for later.) They would implant three as the success rate at that time was low and they most likely wouldn't all take.

The donor produced 9 eggs, a low number according to the dr. Of the nine, only six fertilized and then only three lasted for transfer. We were scheduled for Labor Day. Painless for me, and I had to stay in bed for a day, but after that it was hurry up and wait. I was to go back in two weeks for a pregnancy test. I, of course, couldn't wait, and took a home test after eight days figuring a futile exercise. Much to my surprise and glee, a big old dark blue stripe appeared. OMG, we were pregnant.

After the official test, I was told the HSG level, the hormone they measure to determine pregnancy, was extremely high and it was more than likely multiples. Burning question: was it two or three? This would be determined by ultrasound in 4-6 weeks. The possibility of three was not a good outcome in terms of safety for me and viability of the babies so this was going to be a very long wait.

The Old Soul - 1991

As I mentioned earlier, I met The Old Soul when I had finally figured out I didn't need a man to make me happy. I had connected with some great girls (women) from work who were really smart, career oriented and FUN! We all had great jobs, with good salaries and we were on our way up. We would go out every Friday after work and party it up, meet lots of guys, diss 'em and laugh about it on Monday.
We had figured out a great way to meet men. SIT AT THE BAR. Every man in the place eventually visits the bar!
On this particular night, three of us were out and sitting at the bar at a new brew pub in Denver. It was THE place to be. Giant circular bar in the middle, cute bartenders, focal point of the room. A man approached. He asked if he could squeeze in to order a drink. I said yes, if he could find me a smoke, (Early nineties and, yes, I only smoked when I was drinking, which is why I didn't have any smokes on me.)
So he walked away and brought back two friends; one smoker and The Old Soul. It was Like at first sight. He was darling. And YOUNG. I was a matronly 35 and he was 29 in eleven days. I lied about my age and said I was 32. That seemed SO much younger (really?). We chatted and proceeded to play the shot game. It had something to do with quarters and random shot selection. I was happy if I got the Sex on The Beach shot and not the Jagermeister.
At some point we ended up at my friend's condo which had a pool where we encouraged skinny dipping but the young bucks were too shy and went in their skivvy's and then the girls tricked them and didn't even participate. The Old Soul and I ended up making out in the condo and OMG, I swear it was the best kissing I ever experienced, before or since. Really. Stayed up late late late, even though he had a class (he was in law school, I found out) the next morning.
He called me next day, Saturday, we had our first date that Sunday, and the rest is history, which I will tell you about later.

INFERTILITY SUCKS 1995 - 1998

When we decided to get married, we discussed having children. I was only 38 and figured I had plenty o' time. After all, both of my grandmothers were in their forties when my parents were born. The Old Soul wasn't sure he wanted any kids, in fact he had one that he hadn't seen for 10 years. (More drama for another post.)

We discussed, not argued, the pros and cons and whether we should or shouldn't. Unable to come to a consensus and unwilling to make it a deal breaker, we shelved it for my fortieth birthday. We figured we'd see how things were shakin' then and go from there.

It was a strategy that worked out surprisingly well. Our relationship grew and strengthened and when I turned forty, it seemed like kids were the next step. Onward and upward.

I got pregnant in 6 months and we were estatic. Seemed easy as falling off a log. Unfortunately, nature took a course in another direction and I had a very early miscarriage. So early, in fact, that prior to the days of super sensitive pregnancy tests, I would have just thought it was a late period. Intentional procreation puts everything in a different light.

My GNY/fertility specialist said not to worry; it was just nature's way of saying something wasn't right and just keep on trying. The good news is we know you can get pregnant, right? Six months later, I had my first hot flash. Was his face red. NOT. Without apology or empathy, he bluntly sent me off to the REAL local fertility specialist. To his credit, he got me in right away with a really really good specialist who had a very long waiting list.

The Specialist immediately diagnosed two things. One, I had uterine fibroids which need to come out for me to successfully complete a pregnancy and two, I had old eggs which would prevent me from getting safely pregnant in the first place, if at all.
He recommended surgery for the fibroids and egg donation. He wouldn't even take my money otherwise. I had gone to this appointment on my own; my heart sank as I knew The Old Soul was not going to go for egg donation. We had already explored adoption and decided it wasn't for us. I was pretty sure he would see this in the same light.

To my surprise and tentative delight, he was not opposed to the idea and we signed up. First I had to have surgery and recover for at least six months, then find a donor. They had resources and we would pursue that when the time was right.

I had the surgery successfully and made a speedy recovery. We took a whirlwind vacation to Europe, came back and celebrated the holidays, enjoyed a beautiful spring and thus began our joutnry.

Me and Alcohol

My new sobriety date is January 1, 2012.

I have made it to Day 4 and I'm feeling better, if only I could get some sleep. One of the things I was so looking forward to about not drinking was sleeping through the night. When I drank. I always woke up about 3.5 hours in and never could really go back to sleep. Needless to say, I was exhausted. Last spring, when I stopped drinking, I remember blissfully the sound sleep I enjoyed.
So far this time, not so much.

On New Year's night, we were in a hotel and the neighbors were up partying loudly so it was hard to sleep. Got a little sleep late and then was up early to ski.
The next day I was home but fended off my alcohol cravings with caffiene. Which worked awesomely except for the buzz I took to bed that stayed with me until, say, 3am! Then up early to get the kids off to school.
Last night, for some unfathomable reason, my husband got blasted. This is pretty unusual for him although I have seen more of it lately. Which is a motivator for me not to drink as I am sure my drinking was rubbing off on him. Used to be he could take it or leave it and often went for months at a time without a drink. At any rate, I heard him pouring glass after glass in the other room where he was watching football. I wondered about it but figured he had a bad day. Right before the kids were going to bed he got all wound up and was rough housing with them and even getting playfully physical with me. I could tell he had waaay too much and tried to calm him down before he got out of hand. Eventually we got the kids down and I went to bed. When he cam to bed, he got frisky (hopefully not TMI) and I told him to stop it and move over. He wouldn't and we argued back and forth for a while, before I got up and went to sleep in another room.
I wasn't mad really, just annoyed and a little scared as he usually never acts that way.
6 am, my girl wakes me for school. So, not so much sleep last night, either.
The good news is, I have time to nap during the day if I choose. The bad news is I am getting less done than I was before when drinking.

The best good news is I am not drinking and not feeling as much of the obsession to. If only I could get some sleep;)

INTRODUCTION 1956 - 1994

HAPPY NEW YEAR! Late, as usual. This is my resolution blog attempt and already I am starting off on my late foot. This is supposed to be my grown up blog. The one where I come out about drinking too much and figuring out all the skeletons in my closet and how they have affected me. Catholic guilt, private girls' school, growing up in the 70s... My blog is named Bassackward because that is how my life has been. As the youngest of four to 2 very tired parents, I grew up fast and independent. Not that they weren't there, they were, but not really. I was the survival child; they had seen it all with the other kids and They all survived; surely so would I. I lived a secret life and experimented with everything. They caught a glimpse now and then, but nothing bad enough to shake them out of their "perfect private family" imagery. And I was happy to let them believe it. Up until about 7th grade, life was pretty innocent. Oh, well, except for the alleged sexual assault by a babysitter's husband at 3 that I don't remember and attempted suicide by my sixteen year old brother at nine ( I found him) and the move to the city that I didn't want, then the move back after I began loving it. We came back and my boy craziness was full on, the beginning of my search for something I was missing that I sought through attention from boys and men and paid whatever the cost to get it. Graduated from a fine all girls' school where I led a double life, went back to the city to my mom and sister's alma mater all girl college where I transferred from after a year. Tried another school close to home and dropped out after a semester for a...wait for it...man/boy. Went to work and partied hard, got engaged to the man/boy. Fortunately moved on after a couple of years. Had a pretty good career going, met the One, again. We got married in a dream Catholic ceremony, worked and partied hard for three years during a tumultuous marriage and finally divorced. Met another man who I spent 7 years in and out of lust with, like an addiction. Worked hard and partied hard. In my 35th year, I figured out I really didn't need a man to be happy, and I really was. Had a blast with good friends, excelled at my career, all by myself. And. guess. what? I met The Old Soul. I think what they say is true; You have to be happy with yourself before someone else can be happy with you. We got married in my 38th year after a very full and lovely 3 years together. We just celebrated our 17th anniversary. More to follow as the drama continues... Happy New Year! Late.