Swiss cheese

I forgot about my 5 minutes writing experiment last night and went to bed at 9pm. My fella was home and sleepy (he works nights) so we just shut it down and hit the hay. In an effort to not forget again tonight, even though it’s nearly 10pm and I have about 2 hours of work ahead of me… well, here I am. Obv. (I’m very exciting, aren’t I?? ;-P)

The other day I wrote about the experience that made me start to close in on myself. The event that fed my fear enough to change the trajectory of my future. Today I will tell you about the event that made me start to turn it back around. There was about 20 years between the two events.

It was the fourth or fifth time that I put myself into swimming lessons as an adult. Although swimming was a part of our physical education curriculum in my elementary school, I could not swim (and still can’t, quite frankly). I tried to learn, I wanted to learn. The moment that got me every time, though… the lesson that I skipped and never returned over and over (and over) was jumping into the deep end. I tried it when I was a kid. I was super stoked to show off my abilities during a general swim with all my friends, but the moment I hit the water I panicked and had to be pulled out of the pool by the life guard. Deva. Stated.

So this one time when I was in my 30s I looked at the whole thing logically. Sure I was scared out of my mind to jump into the deep end but I couldn’t remember exactly why. And everyone else was doing it and they all survived. Hmph. I told myself to stop being a bitch and I jumped.

Then I went horseback riding, hot air ballooning, wake boarding, bungee jumping, flew a plane, ran a 10k, quit smoking for the last time and basically turned my whole world around. It all only took a decade or so. All from one step off the side of a pool.

It’s weird to think about that wimp of a woman now. But I love her, neurotic messed up bitch that she was.




Today was a great day. No reason in particular. It just felt like my train was really chugging down the track and I was in the right caboose. Actually, I did find out that I will probably be on TV for my work with a group I’m involved with. And I got further in my speaking engagement plans, actually pushed into getting my butt in gear. I had lunch with an old friend – and by old I mean 94 years old, but also someone I care about but haven’t seen in a long time – and caught up on some gossip and reminded of other old friends. I texted with my crush for over an hour (about his mom, don’t be crass ;-P). And I had my favourite soup for dinner. Now? I want to sleep. Because I also put my back out, was in crazy pain and far too lazy to try and walk it off. But overall great day. Well done, me! Good night and good luck.

Something occurred to me today

I think one of the reasons I don’t like reading what I have written in the past is that I rarely write about what’s going on in my life; I write about how I feel. It’s all about who made me cry, who I loved, who I wanted to leave. That’s not a bad thing, but out of context it doesn’t really matter. (i.e. Oh, I felt really shitty that day… I just don’t know why so I can’t determine what I learned so why would I care?)

For instance, and one of the first occasions of this, when I was 15 I was… let’s say “taken advantage of”, for lack of a better phrase. It was summertime and my best friend’s two older brothers took us to someone’s cabin on the lake. Also in attendance was their cousin, her husband, their two kids, the cousin’s husband’s friend and his daughter who was about 16.  This was my summer of breaking free. It was the year I (stole and) wore my first bikini, it was the year I started drinking, and really started to side-step my parent’s rules. July 1987 was my one month of rebellion.

The cousin’s husband’s friend’s name was Dick – which I thought was hilarious. I decided to call him Richard and said I would only call him Dick if he was a dick. (He was beyond a “dick”, I just wasn’t wise enough to know it at the time.) Richard was in his late 40s (read: 25 years older than I) and he got me very, very drunk. I’m not saying I didn’t accept the alcohol willingly, I’m not saying I didn’t kiss him back, in the dark I didn’t mind him holding my hand and rubbing against my breasts and putting his hand between my thighs. I felt sexy, being wanted by an older man. Everything was blurry and funny and fresh. I was a virgin and we didn’t have sex but I let him touch me everywhere. While his daughter and who knows who else watched.

A few days later, in the middle of the afternoon, a knock came on my door. It was Richard, with his daughter in tow, asking if I would like to come to their house for a sleepover visit. I said no, I wasn’t allowed to go to Lab City. He was really quite pushy and was coming on to me as he did when I was drunk but this time it scared and sickened me. I realized how far I had pushed my luck with him and remembered all of my dad’s warnings about all of the bad things men would do to me given half a chance.

I became obsessed about him for a while. The fear consumed me. I hid when someone came to the door when I was home alone; I saw him at the mall, in the movie theatre, driving down the road. I remember jumping into bushes or behind clothing racks more than once. He was everywhere I went – whether it was my imagination or he was actually stalking me I still don’t know. But I reacted, I closed up and pulled back and ended my crazy month of rebellion, believing that my father was right and I didn’t want to be alone with anyone anymore. Even thinking about it now, tears well in my eyes and a feel the fear and panic of my 15 year old self. I kept it all inside. Here’s what I wrote in my journal:

July 20, 1987

I felt so empty today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was contrary and uptight. I felt alone. I couldn’t talk to anyone, I can’t even write it here. Someone could read it and then I’d die. Stories about parties and beer are nothing compared to this. I don’t even want to remember it. 

That’s all I said about the incident. I didn’t write again for a month and then it was all about who I was crushing on again. During that month and before I was the wildest I’d ever been, I was messing around with every man who came in my drunken path, I was…

I just realized that I stopped dressing provocatively then. No more bikini, much more weight gain, I got my first real boyfriend after that, even though I didn’t really like him much. He was safe. That was what I wanted. Safe.

It has never occurred to me until now just how much of an impact that event made on my life. If I had told someone, they would have told me that it wasn’t my fault, they would have protected me and helped me understand that I was normal and human and safe without adding 20 pounds and bulky sweaters. I didn’t want to get in trouble so I pushed it away until all of those fears dried like concrete in my subconscious and stayed there.






Mother may I

What about the days when I have nothing to say? I used to write a lot. A lot. I have about half a dozen online journals full of gibberish and nonsense that I have no interest in re-reading (maybe someday). Writing is how I used to figure out stuff – I would let it flow out of my mind, turn it around and see if I could make sense of it somehow. And I did. It helped tremendously. But then I learned to speak, found people I wanted to talk to, discovered new ways to cope.

I’m happy. I feel like I know who I am now, I know what I’m all about finally. And it’s after 9:30pm and I’m ready to go to sleep. It was a nice Mother’s Day for a non-mother like myself. A little bit of work, a little bit of cleaning, a little bit of rest. Now I’m going to bed.

That’s five minutes. 😉

5 minutes

I read an article today – one of those “20 habits of the most successful people” type of dealios – and it said you should write for 5 minutes every single day. Five minutes, but only five minutes. That is what this blog “What’s on my mind today” was supposed to be about so I figured I’d give it a go. Again.

Aaaaand… begin:

I just drank a bottle of wine. I wouldn’t drive or anything but I don’t really feel it. Alcohol makes me horny but I was already horny. Perhaps if I hadn’t had that bottle of wine I wouldn’t have started my five minutes with that statement, however, I will concede that, had I not had wine, I probably wouldn’t be writing at all. I’d be sitting on the couch, thinking of all the things I “should” do, all the things I “would” do, all the things I “could” do; a.k.a. all the things I NEVER do. But I digress. (Actually, I didn’t, but this is my five minutes and apparently I’m drunk so shut up. :-D)

Hmmm… what’s on my mind today? The crush, obv. But, a funny thing is, whenever I find myself fixated on something I don’t want to be fixated on, I play a little trick on myself. You see, I used to think that something coming into my mind over and over again meant I was obsessing about it, especially if it was something I shouldn’t be thinking about. Read: food or men.

Not long ago I realized I often do that fixating for fun and non-fun things. So, now, when I find myself continuously going back to something I feel is “wrong” or that I shouldn’t fixate on, I remind myself that I also couldn’t stop thinking about the video where a dude had a 25 year old zit popped (barf) or the video of the poor little turtle who had a straw stuck in his nose (which seriously makes me want to cry and I have thought of it pretty much every single day since I first saw the video last summer).

So, thinking about some man that I shouldn’t be thinking about because I love another? Nothing more than a straw in a turtle’s nose, friend. (Sorry, Mr. Turtle… I’ve never thrown a straw in the garbage since I saw your pain and I never will, I promise.) (Sorry, Mr. Love… I’m just playing pretend, I have never strayed from you and I never will, I promise.)

That was 20 minutes. Just sayin’.



There are few things in life that I enjoy more than having a crush. I love my fiance and I have no want or need to turn to another, but I do like to pretend from time to time.

A man who has been coming to my work makes me giggle. He is a flirt and treats all the ladies the same way but I feel thrilled to be around him. He looks at me and I want unbutton my blouse; he speaks and I want to rub my vagina against his lips; he takes my hand and my juices start to flow. A magnetic pull urges me toward him, just talking about it I feel the familiar throb between my legs.

He is my fantasy, masturbation fodder, a little excitement in my day. Soon he will start coming in when I have already left for the day. But I will think of him. And I will swoon.