I’m an almost 40-year old woman. What do I want from life? What have I been missing out on or compromising on or giving up? The answer is quite a lot, I suspect…

This is an interesting crossroads and quite the trial. What do I WANT to do? I feel like my time here isn’t done, but I’m not completely sure why. The obvious answer is that this community I keep seeking so desperately is right in front of my nose, and I just need to step outside my shell.

I don’t know how to make friends. I don’t feel safe with people, and I am constantly awkward. I connect very easily, but it never goes beyond a certain level of vulnerability. My veneer of strength, humor and compassion keep people just far enough away that I don’t actually have to connect. Everyone I’ve ever known has left; why would I want to actually connect on that level with anyone again?!

… But that’s ridiculous, and I know it. I’m just afraid. Afraid of rejection, of abandonment, of not being enough, of a zillion stupid things. Afraid of pain, I suppose. But pain is a part of life. Pain brings life. You cannot have one without the other. I’m just a fucking pussy. LOL

And there I go again, being harder on myself than I have any right to. We all have fears, and pain, and scars, and baggage. We all make things bigger than they actually are. And we all fuck good things up because of it.

I want desperately to run. To hop in my van (which is currently not running and in Pulaski, VA) and drive off into the sunset and not give a flying fuck about anything except me and my girls. There’s a job at an auto shop waiting for me in a quiet little town where I can see the stars and breathe clean air and not worry about a damn thing – and that sounds pretty nice right about now.

… But that’s not what my girls want. And that’s probably not what I should do.

What about going back to Oregon??

Well, I may not have much of a choice on that one. If it turns out I need surgery, I’m kinda fucked. I can’t be without income for a few weeks – or at all. I literally can’t do it on my own. That’s a tough thing to admit, but apparently that’s one of the lessons I’m learning. LOL None of us can.

I’m sitting at a bar while I’m writing this, and the song the band just played was “I’m a mess”. ROTFLOL