I feel like I could easily slide into one of those people that does nothing but work. If by work you understand that what I mean is take photos. The reason why I don't take photos every minute of every day is because I feel totally anchored to this ridiculous house by the disabled husband, the cutie pie dog who I feel guilty about leaving, and by feeling like I have to cook nice dinners for the kids. Not that I cook every night, but when I don't I feel totally guilty. I'm the first one to tell others that guilt is a wasted emotion, and yet, here I sit, wallowing in it for things I do and things that are not in my control. Jeez me. Give myself a break! In my crazy head dialogue, which never shuts up, I hear myself saying that once something happens I can photograph all day long. Once sweet pea gets a little older, once Evan is back at school, once Josh graduates, blah blah blah. I'm tired of listening to my own excuses.
There is a new and different dynamic at the woods, and it is fascinating. There are a few younger dogs, and sweet pea likes to wrestle with all of them. This young band of dogs are mostly owned by friendly middle aged women and they have started to get together for coffees. I am included in this group and that means that over 4 years after moving to new town I am finally making some friends. Crazy right? That took forever. They aren't the artist friends I was hoping to find (except I think one woman I don't know well is an artist) but they are good people. Another point of interesting is that most do not live in new town, because the woods is in the next town over where folks tend to be a tad less entitled, and when I say I live in new town I get a look from people, so I quickly follow with "but I don't fit in there." and then everyone laughs and laughs and they tell me they thought I was more normal than your average new town middle aged entitled mercedes SUV driving bleach blonde. I think DEFINE NORMAL and then I have my own private laugh on the inside.
Folks, I have been gaining weight at an alarming rate. No pants of mine fit anymore, even the elastic waisted (should not wear in public) velour sweatpants I picked up along thew way are not fitting. It's terrible. I look like Santa. I wish I could stop eating altogether. Life would be so much easier if I could just quit eating instead of modifying what goes in the void.