It’s all a feeling
I feel so fucking good.
There’s so much that can change in a short amount of time. A year in the grand scheme of things isn’t long, yet while you’re going through it, it feels like an eternity. I challenge you to look back on your own, where were you a year ago? Who were your friends? What were you doing? What were you striving for?
So, you know that saying “fake it until you make it?” – I think I finally fucking made it. I just want to point out the obvious for a second: what we think dictates how we feel. You’ll read that in every book, article, etc. and it’s completely true – it just depends on how far you take it. If you wake up everyday thinking how shitty you feel, you’re going to carry that shitty feeling with you all day, unless until you change it.
“People are about as happy as they make up their mind to be.” “Change your thoughts and you change your world” – Wayne Dyer
It’s a beautiful gift to be able to let it all out. I think I’ve said it before, I can’t even count how many dates I’ve been on, or people I’ve encountered or chats at my kitchen table where I am at the receiving end of someone getting all their stuff out on to the table. And I love every minute of it.
I feel so fucking good.
Today wasn’t perfect. Yesterday wasn’t perfect. Stressed between work stuff and kids and I found myself driving with the windows open and I literally said out loud “I feel so fucking good” and I’m rolling with it. For the first time in a year I feel so fucking good. I’m excited about what’s to come – who knows what it’ll be. Only opportunity lies ahead.
I’m not wrong in knowing what I want – a soulmate, someone who treats me with respect, shows affection, and we have an amazing sex life together. I’m talking about being in tune with each other’s needs and desires. To feel so incredibly close and comfortable with someone that the outside world doesn’t exist when you’re together.
Don’t tell me it doesn’t exist, because it does. I’m not talking about perfect.
I love sex. Why do I feel weird writing that? Why do I feel like people are going to talk? If I was a guy it would automatically be assumed and no one would think any different. I recently read (okay, listened – thanks audible) to a book: F*cked at 40. If you are at all of the same mindset of myself, take a read or listen you won’t be disappointed. I love her.
Why is it so risqué for a woman to talk about her wants and needs for sex and intimacy? We as women, have the same needs and desires as a man, yet it’s not okay to discuss? We’ll be labeled as slutty, and our chats as taboo. I call bullshit. You have one life, and a short one at that. Do what makes you happy.
Unless you have a goal – where will you be? I want someone to grocery shop with, and who can’t keep his hands off me at home, one day.
I love my friends.
I’m still working on going through my clothes, to be honest I never started. I’ve been talking myself into it for weeks, don’t judge. In an effort to get motivated I turned my TV to Marie Condo to find out what all that jazz was about. I was chatting with a girlfriend, and informed her of my status. Her response:
“If I hear you were kissing your shirts before you throw them out, I’m coming over there to punch you in the face” I love her. She is one of my biggest supporters and a great friend. Without this support (that I too, sometimes take for granted), I wouldn’t be where I am now. I am grateful.
Work/life balance – I am sporting some major mom guilt lately.
Evelyn: Mama come lay in your bed with me.
Me: I really should get up, and get moving, that’s the hard part.
Evelyn: The hard part stinks
It’s those hard (sometimes sad) times, where all the growth happens. Where we can decide where to go…are we going back to the old way or are we sprinting forward to get what it is we really want?
It’s the constant swimming upstream. It’s like those days where you start cleaning one room, and move on to the next and by the end of the day you’re sweating and have touched every surface but your house still looks the same. The only thing I am doing differently now, is not judging it, or letting it dictate my mood.
I feel so fucking good.
The following event happened last week, the mystery of the missing meat.
You can’t make this up – it isn’t possible. Several days ago, a package of ground chicken went missing from the refrigerator. I asked the usual suspects – no one admitted to anything. Assuming one of the older two tried to cook with it and whatever it was didn’t come out good, so they trashed it and didn’t want me to know they did it. The only reasonable explanation I could come up with. We went on with our week.
Here we are on a Thursday, and I went downstairs and think “ugh the cat box”. Chore done; the smell still lingers on. I feel like you know where this might be going. What the hell is that smell?! I start rummaging through toys, I move the play kitchen from the wall and underneath…sat the package of ground chicken. I think I yelled “oh God” as my oldest came running. Ugh. My youngest wanted to make her “babies” food in her own kitchen, and hid it there so I wouldn’t take it. Fucking gross. She’s lucky she’s cute.
I am finally off to go start my day…I love the summer. I live my life in abundant love.
Thinking of you, and sending you love.