I struggle

I struggle.
I struggle with many things. Time. Money or lack there of. I struggle with being a mom, almost grandma and work.
But the thing I think I struggle with the most is who I am and who I want to be.
See, I have no sensor when it comes to just saying what pops in my head and out of my mouth. I just let it fly most of the time. But, I find that I am trying more and more frequently to suppress that urge….and that BUGS THE SHIT OUT OF ME!

I want to be that 80 year old woman who farts and yells at the manager at the grocery store because he is trying to make her stop running over people in the motorized wheelchair. “Get out of my way, or YOU’LL BE NEXT box boy!” Ya know?
That is who I think I am destined to be. I believe at that age I will have earned the right to be pissy and argumentative. And no one will have the right to take it away from me.

I still have a few years before I am THAT 80 year old me. But, I still want to yell at kids at work. I have no problem with giving them stink eye and have the urge to make the little shit ones want to cry. I think, if their parents aren’t watching them and have dumped them in the toy department or on the fitting room sofas. There little asses belong to me. And if they are tearing up my department after I’ve told them to stop i.e running, jumping, climbing, and opening packages, I have the right to throw them out on there little spoiled, snotty asses, or at the very least tell them “Santa Clause hates You, and he is on his cell calling the Easter Bunny as we speak. You’re not getting ANYTHING this year kid. Now whine about that.” And just walk away.

It is really hard for me to censor myself sometimes. And I feel that it is not fair that I should have too. I was sitting in a doctor’s office about a year ago and there was a little boy, maybe five. And he was on the floor, crawling around, making a fish face with those fish lips and doing something akin to swimming with his arms. This older woman walks in, takes one look down at the little boy and says. “What are you supposed to be? A fish?” the little boy didn’t miss a beat. He continued to stare at her, and just sucked in his jaws, with the fish lips. She responded “Yep, fish it is.” And walked away. I loved her!

Dead relative

Anyone who has known me for awhile now, knows about ‘death’ week. This is from October 25 to November 1st. My dad passed on Oct 25, my mom Oct 30 and my only sibling, an older brother on Nov 1st. So, you can see why I call it death week. And no, they weren’t all at the same time. But still…
I’ve always felt that whoever decides these things are holding Oct 28 just for …you all can bite me! Then it would make a complete and creepy week.

My brother and I weren’t close; I had only talked to him a few times in the eight years since our mother died. I loved him, but just didn’t like him much. He felt the same way about me. He always said that I thought I was better than he and his family. Which I’m not sure if I came off acting like that or not. Point being, we weren’t close.

So three years ago when the call came that he had died of a heart attack I was hurt but hurt more by the news that he had died SIX WEEKS EARLIER. Ok. Nothing like letting me know…say SIX FREAKING WEEKS AGO! I can almost say that I wouldn’t have thrown myself onto the casket and wailed…

“WHERE ARE MY F**KING PHOTO ALBUMS YOU THIEF”. Almost.

So, I have no idea where he is buried or even if he’s buried. They could have cremated him and he’s hanging out in someone’s clothes closet.

I can’t help but wonder about that.

If you have a dead relative hanging around in a plastic bag in your closet or cedar chest. Do you pull them out at Holidays? Do you set a place? Do you put them at the head of the table as an honored guest and make a toast? Do you pass them around from house to house for different holidays? What is the etiquette for dead relatives in bags?

Knowing my brother, he was always stoned. I mean really stoned. So, perhaps they didn’t bury him after all. Maybe they smoked him. And I bet he was really good.

Don’t judge me.