"YOU" IS REALLY AN "I"

It’s been seven years since you confirmed the affair, said "I saw my attorney today" and found yourself starting all over as a single girl... and it's been six years since you started dating the guy you thought you’d have some fun with for a little while, and you realize that somewhere in the mix he became your best friend so that it's hard to imagine you without him…

It’s been fifteen years since you took that fresh-out-of-college job because you just needed someplace to start, and now you've picked out a minor kitchen appliance from a catalog to commemorate the anniversary of the "starter job"…

It’s been nine months since you started your last diet, and in that time you’ve lost 27 lbs and gained back 24— and as you ponder how it is that you look heavier now than you did before, you try not to worry because you know you’ll start again on Monday… You start again every Monday...

You have one year, nine months and twenty-two days to go until you turn forty, but who’s counting?

You feel like you’re finally in control of your life, but it doesn’t feel quite as gratifying as you imagined it would, nor as exciting as it did when you flew by the seat of your pants…

You hope that things will take a turn, but instead of accelerating toward the turn, you pull the covers up under your chin, roll over and hope that when you awake in the morning, you’re just magically there-- wherever it is that you’re supposed to be; you don’t know the place, but you’ll probably recognize it when you get there…

You wonder what it would be like to have to get up early on a Saturday morning to get the kids to soccer practice, but deep down you’re glad you get to sleep in…

You feel a bit faulty, because you secretly think that, as a 38-year woman, you’re supposed to have {and want} a husband and children and grown-up responsibilities, and you wonder how the lack of those things in your life shapes others’ perceptions of you…

You think about your grandparents-- and even your parents-- and you know that they won’t always be around, so it makes you feel guilty for not spending more time or staying in closer contact with them now, today, while you have the chance, and you know you will look at this as a lost opportunity one of these days…

You wonder how you got to be middle-aged, when you still feel like you’re 26 in your head and then you whisper a little thank you for Botox, because few things in life suck as much as forehead wrinkles…

You wish you had the verve you once had, and that you used that energy for great adventure, spontaneity, a consistent workout regimen, self-improvement and self-actualization instead of squandering the meager amount you do have on ebaying, trash tv and endless hours of worrying about your weight and whether others are judging you for the size you are…

You plan to be spontaneous, so you’ll put it on your to-do list... for next week, maybe, or the week after that... but it will probably wind up like most other things on your to-do list...

You despise the procrastinating you’re so prone to, and you wonder why you don’t just get off your ever-expanding duff and make the changes you need to make, instead of blogging your fingers to the bone about it…

The holidays are coming up and you recall that the average person gains eight pounds between Thanksgiving and New Years… You wonder if you might possibly have the willpower to join a gym now and actually go while everyone else is eating dressing and gravy and pumpkin pie…

You wish you could remember the dreams you had for yourself {and who you would be} when you were young, that way the path might be a little clearer… because you can’t really remember who you’re supposed to be, you just know that it’s not exactly who you are— well, maybe it’s kinda who you are, but only a partially-realized version of it…

You tell yourself it’s ok not to have it all figured out, because maybe no one does even though some people appear to... but you know that you’ll only quasi-believe it’s ok for a little while and tomorrow you’ll have to remind yourself again…

You realize you’ve been in a weird funk all day and that most of these ramblings are little more than Tampax-induced anxieties about life and love and living, and they will {gratefully} be gone next week… but they'll creep back in the same time next month, unless you can get the cobwebs out of your head and find some clarity between now and then...

You read back over all the words you just typed and realize that every single “you” is really an “I”… but that’s ok. You’re the only you there is.