My ex-husband once told me- I know that you only write during the bad times. And he was partially correct. Things aren't "that bad" right now. I have my health, a job, a roof over my head, a caring person in my life, my kids are well.. And the list of things I should be thankful for goes on... 

I'm probably not as depressed as I may sound in this blog. It's probably just a glimpse into the brain of a "normal" looking person. A look at the thoughts behind the smile at work or among friends, a look behind the pretty pictures on Facebook. Or just a little bit of free therapy. 

At least that's what I tell myself.

"Rude" is playing on the radio during my morning commute. It's a silly song about a boy asking a man if he can marry his daughter.

And for some reason, it strikes me. It's probably my mood. In all three of my (failed) marriages, only one man has ever asked my father if he could marry me. And now my father is gone. Pretty much along with any hope of another marriage. It's not that I wouldn't try it again (evidently I'm a glutton for punishment), but after three, I should probably hang my hat. I haven't been good at it yet. Besides, who would walk me down the aisle?

Sigh.  

This past year has been a long trail of difficult decisions. And I'm so tired of making up my mind.

And yet here I am, faced with another one. If I were a spiritual person, I would pray for the wisdom to make the right decision. Perhaps those of you who are "of the faith" can pray for me, in the absence of mine. 

I hypothesize. I analyze, and overanalyze, and do it all over again (and again and again). If I could get rid of the residual bullshit that still takes up space in my mind, it might be easier. And I hope. But I'm running low on that lately as well.

I still curse the universe for being so cruelly ironic.

My stomach has been a mess for weeks. I only eat half the week, when I have to feed my son. I drink too much coffee, far too much. And I smoke way too many cigarettes. I've thought about going back to my therapist. I've thought about going back to my doctor. But that just leads to a prescription. And I've already tried several of those.

On the upside, I've hardly drank in weeks; months, actually. And by all means, I should be a drunk. But I only have one or two, here or there. And I still haven't resorted to joining the ranks of those who choose "other" vices, no matter how available they are. And I never will. That's not to say that I'm a prude. It doesn't mean that I judge. It doesn't mean that I haven't gone down those roads; I have. 

I just chose not to live there.

It's Saturday, and that means it's my Friday. Aside from my sour mood, I actually look forward to going into work. It is stressful managing a bar, but it is rewarding as well. And not necessarily monetarily; I certainly don't make "the big bucks". And I get the feeling my employees don't really consider me "the boss", more of a coworker, really. But I know that what I do is appreciated, by my boss(es). I know what I do, and I know that it matters. 

I'm looking forward to date night with my son tonight. I am taking him to a street dance to see one of my favorite local bands. I hope he enjoys them as much as I do. I think he will. 

I miss having a dog. I had Phineus (my last Dane, who now lives with my daughter) for a few days. It was nice. Mom didn't seem to think so. I want my own dog. But living with my mother is much like living with a spouse- Spousal refusal at every turn. Grrrrrrrrrr. 

Living with my mother is... Well, like any 42 year old grown person living with their mother. Tolerable, barely, yet far far far from ideal. I need my own space. Desperately. I am trying to make the proper moves towards that. And the proper decisions. 

It's time to go to work.