I gave in. I drank and enjoyed a rye bourbon. I needed it yesterday to celebrate an epiphany I had yesterday. And the reason I still smile today.
I have 2 children. They have no father. My oldest is special needs. I lost my father 11 years ago. I have often felt alone. I’m a state, or further, away from my family and my oldest friends. I am busy. I work 40 hours. I’m in my car at least 2 hours a day driving to work, picking up children, driving home. I work so I can afford a house I am asleep in more than I am awake. On the weekends I’m exhausted and needing to do laundry but the boys want adventure! Want fun! They want a mommy to do things with them!
I have been trying to be “rescued” and by doing so seeking happiness by trying to date men. I didn’t understand rescued. I needed that simplified. I didn’t need it explained to me. I had to figure it out for myself. I’m not happy working the hours I do. I do not like not being able to run to the store at a moment’s notice without children. I have to pay a sitter to eat dinner out with friends. I have to pay a sitter to get out on my own. I can’t even walk out my door and run to the end of my road if I wanted to. I have two children that will follow. They will want to walk. They cannot run the entire length. They’ll ask questions. I’ll have to pull them to the side if a car is coming. They won’t notice. I have to watch out for the three of us at all times. I always have to think about the three of us. All my decisions are made with them in mind. The only time I’m alone is in my car, on the way to work, at work, closed in in my tiny office, my drive home.
I was so mad at myself yesterday at work. For not doing what I love. Which, at this point, would be anything that didn’t require me to sit for eight hours. Or stay in one building for eight hours five days a week. I wanted to run home. I hate going out at lunch. I hate going out and being “free” in fresh air, not working for one hour and then having to go back to work that I don’t leave my building most days. But yesterday I needed to get out. It was in the sixties and gorgeous. I just walked and sat in my car. I just sat with the windows open and thought I wish I didn’t have to work so much. I wish I could spend time more time with the boys. I’m looking to find someone to help me with the boys, the house. I have been searching this whole last year and a half for a man to live with eventually. I’ve been looking for a man with a good job that can take care of himself and…I admitted…the boys and I so that I can quit my job, find a job I ENJOY, less hours, even less pay but there’s an additional income coming in, MORE time with the boys. I’ve been looking for someone to fix dinner with me. Take the boys to parks with me. What happens when we go to the fair and the boys wants to ride a rollercoaster? I mean, neither are tall enough and I’m not sure Jackson will ever be, but if I sit with one child, who is going to sit with the other child? A family of three works with it’s two parents and a child. Not other way around. I attended Monster Jam this past weekend with the boys. That’s a dad event. I’ve been thinking this whole time I HAVE GOT TO find a man that will love the boys and I and “grow up” with us. Rescue wasn’t the term I understood. Needy, clingy, all the things I hate being and never liked in anyone. I was being that way to these poor men. I’ve been disgusting myself! And it must stop!!! And it has. I’ve realized my problem, now I will correct it. I’ve hit rock bottom.
I need to apologize to the men I’ve dated in the last year. I’ve not been me. I’m independent and strong. I was that way after my divorce and up until Jeff died. My ex-boyfriend confided once that he what he liked about our first date was how I appeared confident, sure of myself. Our first date was July 3rd. Jeff died July 5th. The whole dynamic of our relationship changed. He may have liked me but he started helping me. He had raised four children, one of which, was not of his blood. He was generous, kind and caring. Over the next year we became a little family. I loved it. But unfortunately we were not good for each other. I’ve been looking for that since we parted in July.
Along with this realization yesterday came my resolution. WHAT THE FUCK? I don’t need that. If that presents itself it will happen. But I’m not look for it. I’m capable of caring for these boys. I’m making money. I’m working. I do just fucking fine! I can count on myself. I can’t count on anyone else. I will just suck it up. But I’m not sucking anything up. I’m awesome as is and I will just be happy to be alive, to take every breath, to wake up to my children, to be able to work, to be in a house within a great school zone, I’ve done this and I will continue to so. I’m going back to me. The me before Jeff died. I’m done feeling sorry for the boys and I. I’m going to start living for the boys and I. And that requires smiling. And I used to smile a lot. And since yesterday I haven’t even thought about texting a man. And I just keep smiling! I feel like myself again!
Bulleit Rye. Nose: I smelled freedom. Aw, yes, a term so overused but so understood yesterday. With a clearer, lighter head, things are amazing. Later, third glass or so, I smelled dog’s ass. My friend who brought me the Bulleit can vouch for me. My Boston Terrior is a fucking fart machine. I really spend half of my life wondering what the fuck he could have gotten into and eaten to smell like that. Palate: it made it down! I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the second glass more. Finish: Fan-fucking-tastic. It was a chemical release that I needed to compliment my mental release. All is well and all is amazing. I’ve got friendships to work on, boys to raise, my life to enjoy. Why not try the rye and enjoy it as it is? Life is too short:)
Now, I’ll need to address the irony in this blog and its title eventually and this teeny tiny problem I may have with alcohol but can’t admit to…another blog for another day.