I miss me. Badly actually.  I had sort of gotten to the point where I was once again writing. Not necessarily blogging, but actually writing?  I remember fond times of sitting, quietly, me and a glass of merlot, just, well, thinking, and writing. Not really saying anything even remotely approaching significant. More rather, sort of tiptoeing around the perimeter of not quite significant, but something closely resembling not at all significant.

 

Now, my days are simply filled with things of children. Things surrounding children. Things childish, and in some ways, I become the most childish thing there is.

 

I'm not sure I am happy, per se.  I am fulfilled. Quite. But not exactly happy. Perhaps there is a part of me who resents what I do?  It is certainly possible, I have been filled with resentment in the past, will probably be filled with resentment in future, and quite probably won't even realize when I am, in fact, filled with resentment, being so full of resentment that I will be unable to pull my head out of my ass long enough to see that my world is filled with shit.

 

I used to be philosophical. Actually, I distinctly remember being a fun person as well.  I am not sure where exactly, that person disappeared?  I think I would quite like to go and have a look around and see if maybe I can find her.

 

How do you pull your head out of your own ass?  How do you, well, how exactly do you tell when you have your head up your ass?  Especially when you are a 'ball busting bitch' that no one wants to approach and say  "oh, pardon Moi??? but I think you quite have your head firmly inserted up your ass?"

 

Just doesn't flow. Not at all. They don't even like to tell me the mail is late anymore. Sigh.

 

I have approached the point in life where I should be fulfilled, but, hoisted by my own petard, am not.  I have waited fucking years to actually use that phrase in print, and there it is. Hoisted by my own petard. Anyone out there even know what a petard is? Anyone care?  A petard, or rather, properly, a 'petar' is a small incendiary device, used primarily in the medieval period.  It used black powder, was usually bell shaped, and was used to blow up walls.  To hoist, is to lift something up, to get it ready to move.  To be hoisted by your own petard is to blow the fuck out of yourself LOL.  By mistake. Knowing that you are handling black powder...knowing what you are getting into. Knowing in advance what is going to happen.  

 

I.  Have definitely been hoisted by my own petard.   But hey!! I did it by the age of 50, not bad??  Shakespeare, would, I think, be impressed. He  may not have been the first one to quote that particular phrase, but he was certainly the most famous.

 

But is it a bad thing?  I don't really know the answer to that question. I know the answer to many questions. Ask me my favorite color. Brown. See?  Ask me the reason a rhinoceros has wrinkly skin?   Because of cake crumbs. Or so says R. Kipling anyway.

 

But I do not know the answer to that particular and monumental question.  I do know I am tired.  But is ME tired and crabby better than SHE,  strung out and ditzy?  If you put it in those terms, yes. But, if you put it in other terms? I simply don't know.

 

I think I would like to have the time to do many things that I am unable, by virtue of my age, my energy level and my commitments, to do. But, that was also the case in my twenties.  Is this personal angst something that has gone around a few times in my life? Yes, quite probably.  Does it make a difference. No. Quite probably.

 

Could I change it. Yes. Will I change it. No. Will I work on changing me?  Probably, or I will turn into a wrinkled up old prunish sort of woman who is never happy, and if I turn into that, I will have to nip out back and shoot me, or pay someone to shoot me, or get shot somehow, just to keep me in check so to speak.

 

There has to be joy in parenting someone else's small children over the age of fifty. Not the children, LOL, me. And, I think my quest will be to find it.

 

Join me on the journey. Perhaps I will also find the energy to write about it as I discover it.

 

And I hope, when I pull my head outta my ass, it doesn't hurt too much??