I hate it when the Guru is right

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I’ve sat through TOO damn many of those woo woo classes in my life. I, like many of my generation, are searching for some kind of “meaning”. Poor lost little Generation X.

Yesterday I pined over cake.

Today I received cake. Two kinds. Both delicious.

So all those damn shysters who sell their tapes/books/crystals/rocks/pendulums/jewelry/decks of cards are right when they say “you must ask the universe for what you want”????

Really? Hmm. If I can make cake work…can I make something better work?

Ok, I add to my list from yesterday….

6. Be the author of a New York Times bestselling book

Take THAT Madame Fickle Hand of Fate!

:)

Uh oh…here it comes.

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In a few more days.

A birthday.

Not a milestone year, but another year that reminds me that I’m not getting any younger…

That I wasted the carefree years when youth and time were on my side….

That I should be a hell of a lot farther along in my career…

and in my personal life…

That I should have these inner demons by the tail. Demons that have chased me since childhood, that invade my life, my relationships, my dreams, my thoughts. After this many years of fighting the good fight, can’t the soldiers just lay down arms and have a backyard bbq?

When can my demons and I share a frosty beverage, some charcoal cooked meat and learn to peacefully coexist? I don’t ask the demons to leave, no, they are an essential part of the human existence. When can we learn to live peaceably in the same space? That is the question.

I am the sum of all my parts, both good and bad. Some days, like today, I absolutely love who I am and what I’ve become.

Somedays I can’t tolerate being in my own skin. Like last week.

When did I go from being invincible to wondering if I should see a doctor about every ache and pain?

When did thoughts of my own mortality pervade my life?

Remember as a kid when you ran, it was like you were running SO fast and the wind made a whooshing sound in your ears and you felt like you could run forever and thoughts of dying, heartache, agony and disorder never crossed your little mind?

When does cynicism and melancholy take the place of easy joy? When did it swap that I have to work at staying happy instead of just *being* happy?

And when, fer cripes sakes, did we stop getting a big juicy birthday cake with a big passel of candles on top and awkwardly wrapped toys to celebrate another trip around the sun?

Where is my piƱata?!?!

Ah well, birthday snarkiness is my new tradition. This should hang around a few more days, by the way, and I’ll be back to regularly scheduled rantiness.

My new birth year resolutions:

1) Hug my cat more, despite the fact she doesn’t like being hugged.

2) Hug my man more….he rather enjoys it

3) Tell myself I love myself one hell of a lot more.

4) Extend a hand to those demons and invite them to stop growling so loud

5) Eat. More. Cake.

To reunite…or not.

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I’m thinking not.

This summer, I’ve been notified, is the twenty-year reunion of my high school. Oh sob.

I declined to attend the ten year. I hated high school. Oh, the school itself was fine, but that time of my life was….not great.

I didn’t have many friends in high school. I was well liked by all accounts, but out of a class of 550 graduates, I would venture I only knew a few.

And I only had two real close friends that I ran around with.

The closer of the two, an amazing girl full of life and vibrancy and a laugh that would light up the stars…she would be the only reason I’d even want to go. To sit with her and issue the snark and self-deprecating humor and assure ourselves that we are cool despite all evidence to the contrary.

Sadly that beautiful sense of humorous snark was extinguished by cancer in 2005. It hardly seems the same without her.

The other is a lovely woman who has married and has three children. She is a stay at home mom and has become quite religious. I’m happy for her, she is happy with her life. It’s just that…she and I no longer have anything in common.

The rehashed conversation about how I remain jealous that SHE got to date the star football player AND wear his letterman’s jacket while I never not once dated in high school will only last for a few minutes.

Then we’re left with…silence.

I looked at the list of other folks who are attending and I sort of know a few but nothing there is compelling me to get on a plane and spend three days with a wan smile on my face trying to pretend like 1) this is fun and 2) this used to be fun.

The gang is meeting up Friday night at Billy’s Long Bar. An Albuquerque institution, indeed. There are probably bits of my DNA in the thrashed bar and the barf stained carpet. But that was a lifetime ago. That was a different me. And I’m disinclined to revisit that person I once was. I’ve come a long way, baby.

So despite the fact that I “should” or “it would be fun” I think I’m going to pass on the reunion again this year.

What I can’t seem to get over is…why do I feel guilty about that?

Oh the life of a recovering Catholic…….