I fully believe that if one doesn’t want to take responsibility for what comes out of their mouths, then they shouldn’t say it to begin with. Especially if it could be hurtful. I live by that rule. Why is it so difficult for others to?
I’ve said some things, I know. And I take responsibility for that. But never once have I been untruthful in my rantings. I am learning that people who speak or act out of turn, do not like being called out on it. Which is still a concept that I can’t understand. Taking responsibility. It seems so simple to me.
The face book drama, and the he-said-she-said game is the least of my concern in this. The sad and real aspect of it is the entirety of the story… Once, there were 6 girls. Cousins. All closely born to one another through the years. Grew up together. Spent summers at camp together. Had children, got married, got divorced, moved around, came back home. Held family gatherings at least once a month. Went out dancing together. Spent holidays together. Emailed, called, kept in touch… And then sometime recently, these cousins came apart, drew lines, and chose sides.
And now, my only family is my sister and niece and nephew, my parents, Nana, and my children.
I’m still fighting for the farm. I have accepted that I can’t stay here forever, it’s just too expensive. But I am not ready to sell just yet. Besides, it’s a horrible time of year to go on the market. We’ll trudge through the winter, and maybe I’ll make a decision in the spring. Or maybe I’ll suffer through it longer, and continue to put off the inevitable. Who knows.
Some days I want to just be rid of this beastly mortgage, and sell, sell, SELL. Some days I can’t imagine leaving this place.
I continue to be plagued with the family curse. I want what I can’t/don’t have, and don’t want what I can/do. Maybe it’s not specific to our family. It’s probably just human nature. But I suspect (and Sharla would probably agree), that it runs deeper in us. Shoes, jewelry, cars, houses, jobs, men… The desire, the need.. for something new, something different, something more. Always.
Logan is still gone with her Dad. They’re camping with her step-mom’s side of the family. It’s a yearly tradition. They are in Canada, at Campobello (sp?), so she has no cell service. I did just hear from her yesterday, when they went somewhere and she had service briefly. She says things are going ok and she is having a good time. I worry about her. And I miss her, even if she is a moody teenager. I hate it when she’s gone.
This week has allowed Dawson and I some one on one time though, and that has been very nice. He went to his Nana and Papa’s on Wednesday, with the intention of spending the night. By 7pm, he wanted to come home. He said to them- “My Mom is at home all alone, I should go home”. He is such a sweetie. My little man of the house. As cute as that is, I worry that he worries too much. He is older than his years. Sometimes that is sad for an 8 year old.
One of my closest friends of many years is coming shortly for a visit. I’m looking forward to that. We used to get together weekly for our “coffee talk”. Now with jobs and such, we’ve been too busy. I think Sharla and the kiddos are coming too. It will be nice to see the kids play while we catch up.
Friends are something of a shortage for me. Mostly by choice, partially by chance.
I am looking forward to tonight and Jester’s Street dance. My favorite band will be there… (sorry Sharla, lol)… The boss has staffed fewer bartenders, and I suspect we will have a larger turn-out than past years. And so, I will be pulling my hair out all night. But it will still be fun. I am looking forward to joining them onstage for my usual Zeppelin tune. My illustrious singing career, now reduced to the occasional cameo.
Well, Dawson is asking for me to come dig in the dirt with him. Off I go to get filthy.