Blueprint

This is the blue print of a woman's life....according to Racheal


Teens = have experiences and
'happenings' that you think are completely original, that no one else
could possibly understand, because you are the first one to
...have you heart broken, drink to much, get your first
car, screw off at school, have your car taken away for screwing off at school, get picked on, make
fun of others, hate a teacher, etc)

Twenties = Finish college,
or work at turkey hill, whichever path you have chosen for yourself.
Figure out who you are, look back on being a teen and think 'wow I was
a little shit, that was what everyone was going through....why did I
make it so hard on myself?' Look for Mr.Right. Potentially find
Mr.Right and start a family. Or, have an amazing career that all of your
friends who chose the latter will covet until the day they die =) If
you did have kids, notice your body now resembles something from hell
and feel hopeless and gross...wonder if the kids were worth all of the
'wobbly bits'. Have no time to do anything about it while running
after screaming toddlers. Look at your pay check, and hope that that's
not what they think you are worth, because if it were you would curl up
in bed and die. Worry that you are becoming your mother.

Thirties
= Know who you are, though you are still a little bit shaky on that 2% of the time, but
you know exactly what you are about and you don't apologize for it.
Watch the investments of time you put in in you twenties develop (i.e.
career develop, kids grow up, marriage/boyfriend relationship get
stronger, divorce). Notice your paychecks seem to have grown as much as
you have.....you start feeling like everyone gets what you are worth, and that they are now
willing to pay that sum to have you around. Start taking care of yourself
and lose the baby weight, since you now have time to. Still look
disheveled what with running here, there, and everywhere for PTA, swim practice, karate classes, soccer practices, piano lessons, dr.'s appointments, work, etc.....buy a house. Still worry
that you are becoming your mother.

Forties = Throw the middle
finger up to anyone who questions who you are. You are not apologizing,
justifying, or wasting your time explaining any detail of yourself, to
anyone. Least of all to your now 70 year old mother; who now, every
time you talk to her, in the back of you're head you are thinking 'one
false word old woman and your going in a state home'. Remodel your
house. Send kids to college, breath. Think you will finally have ten
cents to your name. Get the first tuition bill. Chuck the idea's of
short term financial stability out the window. Take time to REALLY take
care of yourself, tone up, eat well, walk with friends Saturday
mornings and revel in the memories of Saturday morning cartoons,
spilled cheerios on the carpet and your husband asking for the tenth
time if you made coffee when clearly his hands are not broken AND he
knows where you keep all said coffee paraphernalia. Consider divorce
but decide that you don't want all of the hassle, or decide that with
your hot new 40 year old 'been there done that' bod, you are going out
and getting a 25 year old boyfriend and a license plate that says
'COUGAR'......trade the minivan in on something little and zippy with
two seats. Know that you are becoming your mother , smile and shudder equally at that
thought.

Fifties = Get wrinkles, consider botox.....listen as
your now adult children laugh at you for considering botox, when they
are the reason you have wrinkles to begin with. FINALLY have financial
stability, travel a bit. Own your cars, be close to owning your home if
you don't already, perhaps own a place at the beach. Spoil your
grandchildren mercilessly and completely ignore your own children when
they pull the "Evan only eats micro-biotic, whole grain, no HFC food's."
Give the kid an Oreo every time you see him. Smile when your child
can't figure out why you are the favorite Gramma. Enjoy your career, now
that you have time to. Take your mom to lunch on Sunday's and realize
that maybe it wouldn't be to bad if you were like her.

Sixties =
Start playing Uno with the girls for money once a week. Watch crime
shows nightly, talking to the tv and giving them tips on how to solve
the crimes. Complain to your friends that your ungrateful kids never
call anymore. Call them. Alot. Bury your mother. Hope you have the best
parts of her.

Seventies - Bury your husband. Buy a cat. Go on
cruises with your other old lady friends and play shuffle board until
the wee hours of 8pm. Eat dinner at 3pm. Think Matlock is sexy. Give up
calling the kids, wait for them to call and guilt trip them to death
about not calling more when they finally do ring you. Get threatened with being put in the state
home.

Eighties = Make funeral arrangements, sit and pet your cat, wait to die.

Ninety = Dead.

Welcome to Paradise

I hate when I get lost in my head...it's like being stuck in a room with no windows and no lights on...it's black whether my eyes are open or closed. I try to feel around but no matter which direction I turn I hit something...there’s never a clear path, and even if there is I can't see it so it really doesn't matter if it's there.

Hope is trying to find the path. Hope is for suckers.

Stubborn tenacity is moving all of the shit out of the way, in the dark, and finding the door. Finding the light.

I’ve done both, along with sitting in the dark, holding myself, telling myself I turned off the lights, and not allowing myself to try to find a way out. I’ve cried, I’ve screamed, I’ve thrown paint, remote controls, dishes, tables and anything else within reach. All in the dark.

I’ve defined myself by my thoughts, by the disease I was told I have, by the money I knew was never there, by the God I was told existed, by the choices and words of others, and most of all by the absence of key players in my game of life. I allowed my tablet to be scribbled on, written and rewritten by those around me who say one thing and at times write another.

I was defined by my need for acceptance, love and companionship. There was never a clear definition of who I was. There were only labels. Slut, bad mother, undependable, worthless, unpredictable, loved, original, thief, manipulator, freak, bitch, adored, weird, spoiled, ugly, beautiful; this was my definition. The one I was given by the people that have come in and out of my life. The one I accepted for nearly a quarter century.

When I stopped accepting these labels and rewrote my definition all hell broke loose.

I have one truth. The road to self reliance, self acceptance and self worth runs straight through hell.