In the beginning
God I feel lonely tonight. What’s a modern girl to do? Write a blog of course!
I picked the name “praying with the sister” because it is my own little affectionate euphemism for smoking marijuana.
Ah, the weed. My cure. My nemesis. Sparking the green is how I used get through the day. But it’s not working anymore. My God has forsaken me.
My lungs hurt. I no longer get the boost off it I once did. I can’t seem to stop though.
I know it’s fucked up.
I’m married to the Mr. who is also a pothead. It doesn’t make it easier, but it isn’t his fault. I was a full-blown addict before we ever met. Only back then it felt more like medicine, like a wonderful antidepressant. It’s one of the things we had in common.
I always wanted to be a mother, but it never happened. Some days I am grateful. Other days, I feel like everyone else is in a club I can’t join. Would motherhood have helped me clean up my act?
It’s different to never cross that bridge from daughter to mother. My friends who become mothers are like pod people. They look like my friends, they sound like my friends, but they are somebody else altogether. It’s just the way it works.
So why blogging? I have had a depressed and lonely week. I want to stop smoking pot, but I can’t manage it. I want to do a lot of things I can’t seem to manage. I’m pissed off at my husband who is too involved in a new job to notice me these days. My best friend never called me back after I phoned her earlier.
I’m feeling pretty sorry for myself, and I have to tell someone. Hey, how about the whole world?
I wonder if anyone else out there ever feels this way. Stuck. Lonely. Bored with my own drama.
I share my life with my two feline friends, Big Cat and Little Cat, whom I adore. You know how chicks with no kids get about their pets. Hey, the instinct has to go somewhere. For the person who wrote the article about successful blogging that said, whatever you do, don’t write about your cats, get bent. I’ve always been a rule breaker.
What else? I grew up in a big Mormon family. Yeah, we had family prayer and my parents wore the funny underwear. My mom still has a huge picture of Jesus in her living room that seems to watch me disapprovingly every time I show up.
I’m the only adopted child. I love my family, but I’ve always been the odd one out. I look nothing like them. They are very happy-go-lucky people, and I am a big fat drama queen. My siblings were athletic types, and I was a nerdy bookworm who wrote letters to the editor about the rights of women. Really. I don’t know who I would be without them though. They mean the world to me. I know they will always be there for me.
I go to sleep every night amidst plans. Wonderful plans of everything I am going to do when I wake up. Eat right, exercise, scrub the whole house, do yoga, email my birth mother, read, touch up the paint in the bathroom, file the huge pile of paperwork on my desk, pay bills, write long personal emails, call my sister, garden, bake pies, work on my novel (it’s been on chapter one for about 10 years), cook, and the list goes on.
Every day I wake up, and I don’t do those things. I nest on the couch and watch television. I smoke pot. I surf the internet. I watch more television. I smoke more pot. I tell myself I’ll pull it all together tomorrow.
See how that works? I seem to have a disconnect between my dreams and taking action.
And I’m fucking sick of it.
