pieces

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“what time is it?… where are my keys?… did I pay my bill?… what is THAT?… damn cat… got to make your lunch… chicken? I hate chicken… traffic, great… DRIVE YOUR CAR… really?… no parking… GEEZUS… Mmmmcoffee… don’t forget to pay that bill… what’s my password… access denied? [password help]… did I lock the doors??… I hope Mac is napping… WHY did I make this password so long?… never going to remember that… work… email… work… email… email… sigh… phone rings… voicemail …crap, chicken… ew… go get water, drink water!…haha, that’s funny… that can’t be a real frog… that’s GIANT… work… work… work… stretch… ow, I feel so old… lotion on hands… music!… ear buds… volume up… boop, boop, boop… email… email… work… I hope Mac is okay… is it friggin raining AGAIN?… what time is it?… call mom… TRAFFIC… good song, MUSIC LOUDER… home… WHAT IS THAT? damn cat… Aw, Mac is sleeping, cute… PAJAMMAHS… hmmmm…. CHICKEN, WTF…nope…POPSICLES!”

(edited for bathroom breaks)

Virginia Woolf quote free for download, printing, sharing.

white version:pieces

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bloom

I’ve never been great with plants. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. Last weekend I went ahead and got three separate potted plants and much to my surprise they are thriving. I bought a rose bush, impatiens and some other mix of purple and white flowers. It was a bit daunting for me to choose from all the plants at the nursery…so I just bought whatever I thought would be hardest to kill. My mom said not to be afraid of the roses…just don’t over water them. They are looking really pretty right now. The pictures show the very first bud that came out a few days ago…from bud to full bloom (and now in my living room). It didn’t occur to me until today to give it a sniff. It smells amazing!

I’m working hard at remembering to water and not overwater and also to check for BEES before reaching into the planters, moving the planters…I swear the last bee/wasp/stingy thing I saw was robotic or on steroids…it was giant and pointy and I imagine it having angry eyebrows, wearing a derby and smoking a cigar (shivers).

 

image credit: © Aimee McEwen

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not the momma

unsplash5-9 Even though I have a habit of mothering all things organic or inanimate, I have never been in a situation that I thought, for me, having children would be a “good idea”. I am not a mom and I can honestly say I’ve never wanted my own children. I know myself. I’m not a terrible person. I’m not “too selfish, too lazy, too weird” (okay maybe a little too weird). And it’s ironic…because I LOVE **most** children and most of them like me back. Being nearly forty puts me in this position where people assume I have kids or will have one soon or that I’m tragically childless.

The fact that some people need to put me in a category is something I accept but it opens me up to some awkward situations and questions. Sometimes I want to rip people’s faces off for being uncouth, but mostly I just answer honestly.

Here are some actual questions I have been asked:

Q: HOW OLD ARE YOU? HOW COME YOU NEVER HAD KIDS?

A: I didn’t accidentally forget to have a child.

Q: CAN YOU NOT HAVE CHILDREN OR SOMETHING?

A: As far as I know I am physically able to have one. Maybe (okay probably) in the back of my mind I’ve always felt like I might be “inadequately equipped” to function as a mom (it’s effing hard work, ya’ll). But as far as being physically possible goes…yeah, I’m fine.

Q: WOW, I CANT BELIEVE YOU DON’T HAVE KIDS YET, YOU MUST TRAVEL A LOT…

A: Is that a question? No, I am not sure if mothers travel less than non-moms but I don’t travel…like ever. (I said this while picturing a mom with multiple children on leashes at Disney World.)

Q: (CO-WORKER/NEW MOM BRINGS BABY INTO WORK FOR A VISIT) Other co-worker looking at me sympathetically: YOU HAVE TIME, DON’T WORRY.

A: Also not a question but the awkward silence after a comment like this seems to require a response. FYI: I do not hear my “biological clock” ticking, I am not worried about running out of time. Also, I would like to add that I do not believe having children would somehow make me a more legit female. I once asked a friend if they thought it was weird not to have kids…he said, “No, lots of people don’t have children.” I have smart friends.

I admit to having twinges of envy a few years ago when it seemed like everyone I knew was having a child but that’s all it ever was, twinges. I’m not a robot for gawdsake. Sometimes I even feel sad about it, but that doesn’t make me wanna go out and find a baby-daddy. It just doesn’t.

While I’m not actively trying to have a kid, I’m also not actively trying not to have one. I’m okay with that, even if it means I will never be a mom.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and I will not feel sad. I will go to the grocery store, like usual, and the cashier will cheerfully wish me a “Happy Mother’s Day!” and I’ll smile and say “thank you”.

“Socially awkward, painfully aware.” Is one of my favorite ways to describe myself. “Nearly forty, happily divorced.” comes in at a close second.

image credit: unsplash

not the momma

awake my soul

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lies
And now my heart stumbles on things I don’t know
My weakness I feel I must finally show

Lend me your hand and we’ll conquer them all
But lend me your heart and I’ll just let you fall
Lend me your eyes I can change what you see
But your soul you must keep, totally free

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes
I struggle to find any truth in your lies
And now my heart stumbles on things I don’t know
My weakness I feel I must finally show

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
And where you invest your love, you invest your life
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die
And where you invest your love, you invest your life

Awake my soul

awake my soul

alright

In just two months I’ll be 39. Not that it’s super exciting or anything but jeeze how fast this year has been going by, right? Not much has been accomplished on my end, I have to admit. Not because I am OLD or BURNT OUT (maybe a little tho). It’s probably more that I’m just feeling ‘alright’ with ‘now’. Life isn’t perfect, I feel alright with that because time is short. Thirty-nine years pass by much faster than one would think. Even though I am, by nature, a bit of an underachiever I’m practicing not putting extra pressure (stress) on myself to be ‘perfect’, or to wait for ‘perfect’.

Of course, I’ve been ‘on the wagon’ for about 2 weeks now. No slip ups with gluten or sugar. A few bites of mega sharp cheese here and there (no lactose) and I tried a new gluten free bread that was less gross than previous attempts (yay.). Which is probably why I feel better and dare I say…happy.

Ssshhhhh….

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what you wanna do

unboxedWhen I was in college one of my three part-time jobs was at a bar. Cocktail waitress. It was loud and crowded. Smoky and a bit shabby…more than once I was groped by drunk patrons (gross, I know). I worked there because I could make enough $$ that I only had to work two shifts a week. Easy. There was entertainment on the nights I worked (I mean, besides me and my hilarious lack of math skills trying to make change). Once a night, Chief, the guitarist / singer would play “Amie” and I would walk around the bar with his giant tip bucket collecting tips from everyone. It was a weird job. I wasn’t even old enough to drink. My other part-time jobs were at a toy store (yes, it was wicked fun) and work-study at the college (boring, but tax free). That’s how it was. A retail job, a waitress job and work study. I also worked at a shady delicatessen (paychecks frequently bounced), Kroger, The Loop, a Mexican restaurant (serious health violations, I had to quit when the stress of possibly poisoning families gave me hives), delivered prescriptions to a retirement home (sad), and a fancy schmancy restaurant on the river (where I clearly did NOT belong and was treated like crap). Two things I learned: working more than one job is hard and I am a terrible waitress. Like, the worst. Ever.

Working with the public (huge crowds in touristy Savannah) was a major drain. I lost fifty pounds my junior year running around trying to make it to class and work and somehow my 20 year old brain thought I needed a puppy in addition to all my other responsibilities. As I look back on it now it seems mad. I knew after I graduated that I would never work that hard for so little (money) ever again. And, thankfully, I haven’t.

I still work hard, though. My work pattern is very specific, I guess you could say I’m  a “details” person. I’m in my own head most of the time. It’s alright in there (up there? in here??). Which brings me to what I really want to say: I understand that people (some people) need to categorize others. We’re so threatened by the differences between us: “She doesn’t want kids, they’re gay, she’s got two baby daddies, that one’s REALLY into JESUS…weird, defective, wrong, lazy…blah blah blah”.

Yes, I’m generalizing but I know from experience that it feels pretty crappy to be placed in a box, labeled and sat up on a shelf somewhere or buried down into obscurity, if you prefer. We are not who/what people decide we are. We are what we say and do and feel…we ourselves decide what we are..or aren’t. Let the assholes be who they are and we’ll be who we are. I actually have an incredible amount of empathy for them…the egotistical…self- absorbed, narcissistic…dickheads souls, because I believe all those traits derive from some kind of pain. The pain of feeling unworthy, invisible, unloved, ashamed…

Yeah I know…nobody gets a pass for being a jerk, Aimee. But accepting that someone is a “jerk” is simpler than wasting energy on said jerk because you can’t know what other people have gone through or are struggling with. You cannot make people “act right”. You don’t live in their head and you really can’t know what they think.

I’ve posted a picture of me with this post because it makes me uncomfortable… because posting a selfie means you are a vain, insecure, self-absorbed jerk. You can put me in that “box” if you like. Your choice. I know who I am and that’s all that matters. I am not what other people decide I am and neither are you. Who am I? I’m a “nobody”, and how you treat a “nobody” will tell you who YOU are.

WE ARE ALL MAKING MISTAKES. I saw that on pinterest or somewhere recently…it was scribbled in crayon or colored pencil or something. Being different and being a good great person are not mutually exclusive.

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spatial

True: I have THE WORST sense of direction. If my blood sugar dips too low I can get lost in my own neighborhood. Spreadsheets are nonsense to me. I can barely read a map and the only math unit I was ever decent at was logic. It took me four years to get through two years of math and my math was so terrible that the teacher would tape a farside cartoon from his desk calendar to my tests. I played flute (9 years) and I was good at it. Once, in college, I crashed a cast party for Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil and John Cusak spoke to me…and then I waited in line for the bathroom with Kevin Spacey who asked me if I was having a good time.

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