along comes a song by Aretha that I have zero memory of. As in, I seriously don’t ever remember hearing this song. The timing of hearing this song is practically perfect, as often times, music by Miss Franklin is.

Soul Serenade? Have you ever heard it? Originally recorded by King Curtis and the Kingpins. Stopped me in my tracks this morning as I was doing my normal Sunday morning pick up the house schtick.* Of course, being me, I went down a long and windy rabbit hole at 715 this morning, listening to the Allman Brothers version as well as a clearer version of Miss Franklins. Damn, this is a good song. You can listen to it here or here (Miss Franklin’s version), or well hell, what I think is the original… 

“I want to be free to fly away and sing to the world
About my soul serenade, my soul serenade
When you’re not around there’s a lonely sound
In my soul serenade, in my soul serenade”

Why I’m writing about this:

I want to be free. Free from living in the past constantly carrying around this “shoulda/woulda/coulda” mentality that is frankly causing me to be a pathetic asshole.** Ya, I said it.

This week has been, well, interesting. I’m learning about the joys (ahem) of RA***, or rather how it can kick me in the boobs completely. This is the first morning, in literally a week, that I’ve been able to get out of bed, before 7:30 and function. My hands are at 75%, and the rest of me feels like I’m catching up quickly. As it often happens, when one is knocked on your ass, you have time to think. For me, thinking is no good, very bad. I start playing “but what if?” with myself and let me tell YOU, that is no fucking Bueno.

What if I had done x, y, or z? What if I had been more supportive? Been able to ignore more? What if I would have been more of what was wanted or needed? Holy Christ on a Cracker. Yes, I did. I’ve spent the better part of my non-working hours, trying to reimagine my life had I made myself more acceptable to someone who just wasn’t worth it. It’s been 5 years since the last good weekend. It’s mindblowing to me, that it’s been 5 years, but it has. Literally 5 years ago today, I left knowing that it was never going to be what I needed it to be. It took another 6 months to finally be done, and then another 3 months to get angry, and then a year after that, I finally was able to hang up. But what I’m saying to you is bullshit****. Total and utter bullshit. I have a love/hate relationship with that relationship. I hate the way it ended, but I love holding onto it. Holding on to it allows me to be able to NOT engage in something real. Something that could actually become more than a list of memories, adventures and really bad moments.

Holding onto it allows me to live my life in some fucked up limbo, because, in a way, I kept thinking that maybe my Fairy Godmother was going to wave a magic wand and make all of the bad stuff go away and help me figure out how to have the happily ever after.

“How did we get here?” Was a question posed to me in a text message, earlier in the week one night, while laying in bed, trying to make my arms hurt less. I immediately had a flippant answer, but the more I thought about it, I realized the answer wasn’t that easy. It would be easy to blame it on a behavior, an action, or a thing, but in reality, there were two people that gave a lot of shits a long time ago, that just ran out of shits to give. I could church it up and try to psychoanalyze the real cause, but in reality, people grow up, grow away and if there isn’t a good foundation, that shit is never, ever, ever going to work. You could be me, and try to figure out who broke it, but really, it was broken before it ever started. If I were to be 100% honest.

There is a lot of my life that I keep to myself. Shocking, I know. But, really, there is a lot that I just keep to myself because it’s my shit. It’s my story. Laying around, all week, five years later, I have come to some hefty size realizations about my own life that are pretty embarrassing. I’ve created this life, this story. It’s up to me to get where I want to be. I can NOT entertain this ongoing narrative in my head any longer. At some point, I began to normalize and excuse an unacceptable story.

Again, what the hell?

I’m not very good at getting rid of things. Problems, people, shoes. I like to give all of the things a chance to redeem itself. Maybe those shoes will suddenly get more comfortable. Maybe that dress will finally not make me look like a whore with my boobs hanging out. Maybe she will be proud of what I am doing? Maybe he will wake up and say “damn, I fucked up?”*****

Nah, it doesn’t happen that way.

So, today, 5 years later to the last good day, I want to set my soul free. Or something like that. Clearly, I am not a poet or a songwriter. I can’t quite nail the necessary rhythm of thought, but I think you get the point.

I need to be done and over with that chapter. I need to settle into the reality of what it is, versus what I was hoping it could be. I need to just be OK to say #byefelicia once and for all, and mean it.

Life is entirely too short to settle for less than what truly fills you, makes you happy, gives you satisfaction. At some point in every persons life, I have to believe we have those oh shit moments, when you realize that you are not just bullshitting everyone else, but you are bullshitting yourself. At some point, and sometimes it takes a while, you just have to realize, it’s not going to change, it’s not going to get better. It becomes a when versus an if.****** Once you realize it’s a when, you just have to determine when you are ready for your real life to begin, as opposed to playing in a role in the one you are living at the moment.

So, I’m going to go take a long hot glorious bath and try to get these joints working a little better than they are right now. Then, I’m going to get out of the house and live a little today. I should probably clean my hovel of a house, but for right now, I’m going to focus on the day.

*holy shit, my house is disgusting. two people came over yesterday, and I’m mortified. I should be cleaning instead of writing.

** seriously, i’ve been a bit of a pathetic, simpering asshole. I’d slap me around if I could.

*** rheumatoid arthritis. curse of the mother. total bullshit.

**** i need a new word besides bullshit.

***** i need to work on cleaning up my pirate hooker vocabulary

****** yep, i went there.

To be clear, I’m writing this right now to try to get a song out of my head. Yes, the walking human iPod from hell has struck again. For the past two hours, while I read a great book, I’ve been humming

So, the phrase “why I’m single” was texted to me, not about me, earlier this week.

Context: a snapshot of a text exchange between the texter and a person that had exchanged numbers with the texter at some earlier point. It was not a good text exchange. We’ve all had it. You give/get someones number- perhaps in the moment it seemed like a good idea, but the next day/week/month, you stare at your phone and wonder “why the hell did I do that, or rather, who the hell is this?”

Been there. Done that.

It got me to wondering, “why am I single?”

Why the hell AM I single?

If you asked some of my friends, they would say I’m too picky. Others would say that I’m too lazy. Others might say that I’m ambivalent about finding the whole happily ever after.

I’ve been in love. I thought I might have had a shot at the happily every. It didn’t work out quite as expected (obviously, otherwise, why would I be writing this particular crapifesto?) Despite being in love at least thrice, I sit here, jetting my way towards the land of Prince, lamenting my own particular spinster singlehood.

Side note, a few rows in front of me, I just saw the sweetest action – a guy just helped his lady friend readjust her neck pillow. You could see his genuine desire to make sure she was comfortable and happy. That is awesome. They don’t necessarily match- she is about 5 inches taller than him, different races, but man, do they grin when they look at each other.

SECOND SIDE NOTE: WHO THE FUCK BRINGS FRIED CHICKEN ON A 6:35am FLIGHT? For the love of all that is good and holy, early morning is not the time to eat fried chicken and corn nuts on a plane.

Back to the point of this, if there is one. Why am I single?

Is it because I’m old?

Is it because I have a mouth of a dirty drunken pirate hooker?

Is it because I obsess daily about random offbeat songs that I hear/pop in my head?

Is it because I’m easily distracted?

Is it because my ass and boobs are out of control?

Is it because I’ve somehow ended up living in the middle of the suburbs surrounded by married people and families with VERY few ACTUAL AVAILABLE,  datable men in the mix?

Or is it just because I’ve not yet found the right one for right now? (I’m leaning towards this option.)

Note: I’m very focused right now on writing this and chewing gum. We are starting the initial descent, and I’m only 40% sure my ears might explode. The pressure is getting really really obnoxious.

Man, the flow of this particular entry is incredible isn’t it?

I have a laissez faire approach to dating/finding “Mr. Doesn’t Suck too Hard”. Either it will or won’t happen, but I’m not going to kill myself in an effort to make it happen. Maybe that is why I’m single?

Who knows.

Right now, I’m more focused on getting away, on a jet plane, and making it without my ears exploding!

……………..

Flight one done. No issues. There is hope!

Sticking to a semi-regular weekly blog posting schedule has allowed me to sort out my thoughts in a way that I’ve lost track of over the week. Throughout the day, I’ll think “oh, I should write about this,” and then forget what I was thinking about.

Hell, these days I am forgetting more than I remember. This little reality is especially obnoxious for me as I historically forget NOTHING, and yet, I can’t remember who I spoke to on Friday night.

Today is a quiet day here at the house. I’ve been reading the news, listening to Theresa May’s condemnation of the terror incident last night in London and reviewing other leaders responses- some more measured than others.

I’ve been puttering around while listening to the Sunday shows, trying to make sense out of what is happening.

Bottom line, I’m out of words today. I had words and forgot some of them. The other portion of words that I remember, feel ill-timed in light of what is happening in this world. Navel gazing and pontificating is a special skill of mine, but today it just feels petty.

Go forth and do what you need to do today. Be aware, be kind and be a part of the solution.

If all else fails- go clean something.

It’s that time of the year again. That gutting realization that it’s time to shove your body into a piece of spandex/lycra and pray to the deities that everyone around you is either a.) blind b.) drunk or c.) fatter than you. It’s bathing suit season.

The magical time of year when women start losing their proverbial shit at the idea that multitudes of people are going to see them in a hell of a lot less clothing than they normally wear.

I had my annual freak out this morning when I was starting to gather some crap to run away for the weekend. I tossed a few suits into the pile and thought out loud “maybe I’ll just skip the pool.”

WHAT?

Screw that.

I am a water loving, sun-worshiping human. I feel better when I’m floating in a pool/lake/river/ocean. I’m nicer to everyone if I get some sun. I feel better about life when I get a little float time.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a super model. I have never had a body that stopped people on the streets. I mean, maybe if I was particularly cleavy, someone might pause and say “put those things away”, but I’m not one of those people that have a “banging body.”

I’m clearly ok with that, otherwise, I would dedicate my life toning/firming/surgically improving ALL of the things.

I realized this morning, that I still care, but I’m certainly not going to miss out on stuff because I’m afraid to let my big ass be seen in public. Or my thighs. Or my boobs. Whatever.

Life is short.

I was raised in a house that was the opposite of a naked house. Literally. We covered all of the things up. My mother has never in my life worn a skirt, shorts and certainly not a bathing suit. She has never enjoyed her body, always finding fault, and by default, has extended that to others. She has vocalized many times over the years that I should not wear revealing clothes because “no one wants to see that.” I literally wore baggy clothes, sizes larger than me until I was in college. Nothing makes a teen girl feel awesome than having your mom drag you to Lane Bryant so that you can buy jeans that don’t “hug your butt.” No one knew I had boobs until I was out of the house- I hid those under layers and layers of baggy clothes.

Over it.

Life is too short to hate your body.

Mine is far from perfect. I get that. I”ve known that forever. I’m not going to hide though. I’m going to find a suit that is comfortable, doesn’t ride up the butt cheeks and hoik the girls up enough that I don’t look like a photo from National Geographic. I realize that I might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but there have been at least 2 dudes in the history of me that have tolerated all of “this.” I think it’s going to be ok.

Onwards to the pool. Hand me a drink and some SPF… It’s summer time!