confession: my grocery list consisted of three items–milk, beer, and fudge pops. this list made me feel very grown-up, because i can do whatever i want, buy whatever i want, and eat whatever i want. ergo, i’m grown-up. because i’m a grown-up, i ate peanut m&m’s for dinner last night and again for lunch today. whoever thinks that growing up sucks is doing it wrong.
confession: i line dance at honky tonks where i don’t know anybody. there are honky tonks in the greater austin area that most of my dancer friends and acquaintances don’t know about and none know that i go. i’ve been holding back this confession for months. kiss my electric sliding ass, darling haters, because line dancing is a BLAST. (p.s. please don’t hate on line dancing or anything else until you’ve actually tried it. open your mind to trying something new. get your groovy shake-shake kicking. but beware, once you begin line dancing, you might love it.)
confession: eating peanut m&m’s for dinner or lunch usually results in a stomach ache twenty minutes after consumption. i’m a grown-up with a stomach ache.
confession: i learned this week that the self-hating voice that verbally attacks me inside my own head isn’t mine. i recognized the things that voice says as stings shot from my mother’s mouth while i was growing up. i had unconsciously internalized my mother’s voice. i’ve been instructed by my wise and skillful therapist to tell my mother’s voice to shut the fuck up when i hear it in my head. easy. done.
confession: my to do list grows each day because i continually add things and subtract none, since i do none of them.
confession: instead of doing my tasks, i’ve helped others do theirs. helping others feels like play. doing my tasks feels like work. for the past couple weeks i’ve played lots and worked little.
confession: every night that i sleep (which isn’t every night), i dream of a little girl who looks like me except cuter. she holds my hand and walks next to me in dreams that otherwise have nothing to do with her. she silently assures me that changing her diapers for a couple years won’t be as tiresome, disgusting, or annoying as i think. i’m afraid that a year and a half from now i’ll be 40 years old and pregnant. i’m afraid i might want that. being 40 doesn’t frighten me. turning 40 next year excites me. getting pregnant and being responsible for a child that looks like me would upset my world. adopting children that look nothing like me feels less threatening and more desirable.
confession: i want to shave my head. i want to run away. i want to join the buddhist nunnery i visited in hong kong. i could learn to speak mandarin. i might be happy living inside those walls. peace is my highest happiness.