I think it finally sank in this morning: I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life. I’m going to be one of those Crazy Cat Ladies — for real.
Granted, I did decide to put on weight so guys wouldn’t hit on me so much (the only other idea I had was slicing my face with a razor, but guys would still look at my breasts).
Tho my son taking a photo of me off my headboard and saying, “I can’t believe this was you!” didn’t help.
And I did choose to be celibate for a year, and I’m seriously considering five.
It’s just… I know I can be a bitch. It was my nickname in junior high. But I stand up for the “underdog”. I used to beat up on the bullies! I’ve been an ovo-lacto vegetarian since 23 August 1989 (I’d been one for three weeks previous, but that night I got home from camp and closed out a Tony Roma’s All You Can Eat Ribs).
Kids and animals like me, and they’re a great judge of character, right?
But I’ve got no real friends.
Anytime I try to get close to someone, my son gets in the way — literally– and between ACS (Children’s Services in NYC) and his dad (and dad’s girlfriends) abuse, my son needs me…
I thought I might have a friendship with two of my son’s PMRM’s (Positive Male Role Models), but no. I thought one of their friends, but no.
I met a great guy, but his oldest kids are almost my age. His age doesn’t bother me; theirs does.
Then there’s my health.
Herniated discs, muscle spasms, fibromyalgia. My biological mom used to say I’d only be “good at sex”. But if I can’t show my skills in bed, I’ve got nothing.
The most ironic thing? I had to insert these pictures THREE times.
I think I must be PMS-ing.