Sometimes I get on this kick. When I think if I throw my shit up on a blog, it will act as therapy. At the very least someone will call me out on my own self-deluding bullshit. So here we go again. Try number 8 to get an active blog running about life. Maybe my life or the life I want to lead or maybe the life I want you to think I lead. Regardless, I hope to sprinkle some humor onto some words and maybe into your life.
Deep thoughts of a thirty something.
I once told my stepmom that I thought people who had children not of their own DNA could love that child the same way the could their "own" As I have gotten older, I had to reassess that idea. I think it was just her that could not give me the same love that she did her birth children. Looking back it seemed to be a struggle for the approval or the backing of my father. How sad is that? On his own, my father could not make any decisions on his own. Not that he was not capable, he was not allowed to. More importantly, he could NEVER voice a dissenting opinion. I think once he tried to back me up when I was graduating. She threw him out of the house. He still gets that thrown in his face.
I often worry if I am turning into my mother. As horrifying as that idea was to me when I was a teenager, it is even more so now.