I’m giving up cursing for Lent. I always pick the same thing for Lent…stop cursing. I never can do it. I’m a loser. I can’t even stop cursing for God. Maybe I do at least curse less. Hopefully. I’m excited that I can at least give up cursing on the blog and be successful. It’s easy as there is this convenient ‘backspace’ button, which I don’t have in real life, but need. Once my dad told me I cursed way too much and honestly I did stop cursing a lot in front of my kids. And at them, too. Before I decided to share the blog, I had some conversations with girlfriends about the cursing. I was worried about who might read it and be offended. Because people I may not curse in front of might read it, then they will know I’m a trashy potty mouth. They confirmed what I already thought….that it is just not my writing style, it’s not at all as good, without the cursing. Sad but true. I curse to place emphasis. I do. I’m going to figure something else out instead though, for the next 40 days. And maybe more.
I’m glad Mardi Gras is over. I’m exhausted and I’m sick of smelling plastic beads around my neck. I’m sick of bathing my kids and then they are disgusting and dirty in 5 minutes because they adorn their squeaky clean baby scent bodies with beads that may have been vomited on this week. I’ve already made the quick but necessary check to make sure all the stuffed animals they caught are spankin’ new. Anything that looks even slightly not brand new is in the trash. I have a fear of bed bugs. Never had them…but you have to burn your house down if you do get them.
Last night I went to bed with a bandana ice pack on my head because I’ve had 3 days of headaches. At first I thought it was because I was over serving myself at the parades. In fact, I cursed out Dave when I woke up hungover the other morning, because he knew how to measure when pouring a drink better than I did so of course it’s his fault. Everything is. But I didn’t even drink yesterday and I still have the dreadful headache. It must be the curse. PMS. Why do we get this? Why? It’s so horrendous. The last few months I’ve been thinking about why women get PMS. I think about cave women…what did they do? Kill people? Why do we have to get this? What is the meaning, the true reason as God made us, that we must walk around for a week hating people?? Is it some kind of test? Is it because the other 3 weeks out of the month we just give too much? Allow people to take too much from us? And so we have to get all….crazy on them…to keep them in check? I know that some months are not as bad as others, and I know that eating right and taking the right vitamins helps. The acupuncture has helped….but seriously, sometimes I think it just doesn’t matter what you do. Your patience is zero. Your frustration levels are off the charts. The first 6 months or so after Dave died I loathed my PMS week….because I just couldn’t stop crying. Just couldn’t stop. Is there a woman over 40 who does not relate to this? Because if there is we all need to know right now what the secret is. I think about the menstrual cycle itself…and how mysterious it can be. If you become close to other women, hang around them enough and especially if you live with them, your cycles become in sync with one another. Why? So you can band together like thieves and chase all the men away from your cave with your flaming torches? Why does that happen? My step daughter for the last few months only has a period when she enters my home. When she gets to the grieving place. Explain that, you scientists. And God forbid if it’s a full moon. Heaven help us. That’s when you can put yourself in a meditative trance, wear a rosary around your neck, eat nothing but vegetables and vitamins and you still have wicked PMS.
My face looks like a very nerdy, unpopular teenager’s face right now. How unfair is it to have both wrinkles and pimples? I mean really. I’ve been through enough. I feel I deserve a break in this category. I tried to console myself with several thousand pieces of chocolate during Valentine’s week, and the result is this zit face. Again, Dave’s fault.
I miss him a lot right now. He wasn’t there to put our kids on his shoulders. He wasn’t there to cart the ladder around. Carry the ice chest. It doesn’t even matter because we managed. I’m sad that he wasn’t there to stand next to me. Put his arms around me. Talk to me, joke with me. Be my husband. It’s been 7 ½ months since I’ve seen him. Smelled him. Touched him. Slept with him. That’s so long. An eternity. And it still doesn’t seem real. I still can’t believe this is my life. When, when will my life start feeling like my life? I fear never. I didn’t go to get Ashes today. I don’t need a reminder that one day I shall return to dust. A pile of ashes. 7 months ago I held a most beautiful black granite box full of ashes. I won’t forget any time soon. Certainly didn’t need the reminder today.