Is it really so bad

to not be content? Life is pretty good, not perfect; never could be perfect never SHOULD be perfect; wouldn’t want perfect. Perfect is a snore and a bore. If the sky is the limit what happens when you get there? Float around looking for another limit to reach beyond? I don’t like the floating part. Floating drags you down. Drags me down, anyway.

I’ll be 66 next month and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

There always has to be a next thing. Another goal. Another destination. Something new. I need that. I need those things.

I am selfish and self-centered. For all that I have a care-taker personality, and whether that is by nature or circumstance, I haven’t always voluntarily taken on that responsibility. By the time I was 13 I knew I never wanted to be married or have children. By the time I was 13 I had had my fill of diapers and domesticity. I didn’t like it when it was foisted upon me and I sure as hell wasn’t going to take it on willingly.

It’s good to know who you are at the earliest age possible. Even when people tell you that you will change your mind. I never did change my mind about children and I made damn sure that would never happen. Unfortunately I didn’t keep my promise to myself regarding marriage.

Some people should never marry. I am one of them. I am not happy being married. Just as I wasn’t happy living with someone. I don’t ‘work and play well with others’. Not willingly. I don’t share. Not willingly. I don’t lend, and neither do I borrow.

I’m not sure whether I need anyone’s approval anymore. Time was that I did.

When I was young I said I wanted enough money that I could tell the world to go fuck itself. I still do.

When I was young I said I could happily live on a desert island. That isn’t true. I like being around people.

But on my terms. I want life to be on my terms. I want everything to be on my terms.

But that’s not gonna happen. For anyone. Ever.

I wake up every morning and the first thing I see is the sky and trees and sometimes the sunrise over the trees.

And that is a good thing. It makes me happy.

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September is My January

Maybe it’s left over from school days. September – the day after Labor Day – first day – new beginnings.

Or that October, the most magnificent month of the year, and my birth month, soon followed. A new personal year.

I always feel hopeful in September. Remember the song from ‘West Side Story’ – “Something’s coming, I don’t know what it is, But it is Gonna be great”…That’s September for me.

August is the end of the year. The end of Summer. Never my favorite season. No, not all. Never. Summer dragged on me – pulled me down. July and August – months of drudgery – more work – more responsibilities. No escape. No time or place to be me. To shine.

Ah, but September and school! At school I was a star. The teacher’s loved me – even when I was being difficult. Oh yes, I was difficult. I asked too many questions. Still I was a pet and petted. I liked that…a lot. I liked being number one. So different from home.

Even as an adult September was the time for new…I look back at when I made changes in my life – it was always in September. New jobs, new apartments, new relationships.

September equals New -bright and shiny and exciting.

So Happy New Year to Me…

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