Breakfast memories

I went to breakfast with my dad this morning. Nothing fancy, just a little mom and pop diner close to our house. This morning was the first morning in the past two days that I haven't felt like bursting into tears.

Over pancakes, we talked about the family. We talked about my Tata, my brothers, uncles and cousins. Then the conversation turned to my nana. Nana Irma died when I was five but I still miss her. I like to imagine what she would be like now, how she would react to the person I've become. I find myself wondering if she would be proud that I'm her granddaughter.

"I don't really have a lot of memories of her," I said. "But I like to think she was a no-nonsense woman. A strong woman, someone who was the rock of the family."

My dad drank his coffee and nodded. "She was a good woman," he said. "If there was something that needed to be done, she didn't make a fuss about it, she just did it."

I suddenly felt very ashamed. I've spent the past few days mourning the past. I've beat myself up over things that I can't change. I've been focusing so much on what needs to be done and how I'm going to accomplish it instead of just doing it. I don't want to be a martyr, I just want to get my stuff done.

I look at my family and it's clear that I come from a strong line of women. From my grandmother to my own mother to my aunts and cousins, I think there is very little the women in my family can't accomplish. I think I possess the strength they all have, I just haven't been using it.

Still, I wish my Nana were alive. I wish I could ask her what she thought when she was my age and if she was happy with her life. I don't think people are ever satisfied with their lives. I don't think the doubts ever go away, it's just a matter of learning to work around it.

That still seems like a pretty raw deal. But there have been millions of people before me who made life work somehow. I just have to get on with myself.

I just put in new wallpaper...on the inside

Good evening, children.

I didn't mean for that to come off as creepy as I think it did. I promise I'm not in a windowless van with shag carpeting and candy (or am I?*).

I have a confession to make: I've been cheating on Second to a Sitcom. Yes, it may be shocking. But there comes a time when a girl and her blog just fall out of love. I still love STAS, but I'm just not in love with it anymore. That's the bad news.

The good news is I think I discovered why. STAS has become an obligation. It started out fun and fancy free and now I feel like it's become rather forced. I come home from a long day at work and it's "nag, nag," this and "the kids are hungry" that. I'll write something, come back and read it later and think, "Jee-eeeez, I'm retarded."

This is where the cheating comes in. I've been writing elsewhere instead of here. I actually get nervous to come here. I get cold sweats and my stomach starts somersaulting more than a five-year-old all hyped up on Fun Dip. I feel like STAS is judging me. "I know you've been writing all over town you harlot," I imagine it thinking. It's true though, I'm writing everywhere else except STAS. I'm like an addict; don't care where I get my writing fix as long as I get it. I'll write right here in this dirty alley on a dumpster instead of my nice, sweet, welcoming STAS.

For this I am sorry. To the readers, yes. But mostly to STAS. I'm sorry I done you wrong, baby. But if you take me back, I'll never do you wrong again.

Thus, I am going to do a bit of re-imaging of STAS. Yes, I'll still talk about nonsense. A girl can't be expected to be serious all the time. But I'm also going to talk about whatever comes to my mind and I feel like I need to write down. I like writing to an audience; maybe it's my middle-kid syndrome acting up. Or maybe it's because sometimes late at night when my ego had been inflated to maximum capacity, I think I can write. I don't know. Jury's deadlocked on that one.

STAS will go forward, but not as planned. I only have the half-assed, semi-thought out, above mentioned plan. And plans and me don't necessarily go hand in hand. I'm winging it, is what it comes down to.

So for now, STAS and I are staying together. You know, for the kids.

*I am!

It's Not You, It's Me. All Me.

Here's something you may not have known: my blog is suffering from a very real lack of love. Not from my faithful readers (which I hear is now up to 7, score!), but from yours truly. I can't really say why, something about being lazy probably. Or maybe it's because there's really nothing going on at the moment. The jury is still out.

In any case, I'll have updates. Glorious, awesome, hallelujah inducing updates. You're going to read my updates, poo yourself and then say, "She's right, those were some great updates. Anyone have a fresh pair of pantaloons?" Also, I've said the word update too much and now it's lost all meaning. Update.

However, tonight is Friday night and I have plans to watch movies, drink a little and not wear pants.

How do I do it? I'm very brave, that's how.