Stickwithitness

So... I don't blog any better than I journal. Whatev. I kinda banked on that when I started this thing. There have been days when I compose a blog in my brain, beginning to end, and then forget to type it out. And then forget about the blog completely. And the forget about the day completely. It's part of the sickness. Flakiness, eternal symptom of ADD.

I'd like to blame my schedule, but let's face it, I do nothing almost all day, most days. Lately I've been digging into this wedding planning business, and I fail at documenting that too.

There is a post, sitting, waiting patiently, that I need to finish, whether I think I can or not. And I need to finish it before the end of this month. I don't think I owe him that per se. I don't really owe him anything; I owe myself a little therapeutic purge. A real discussion about him and how his life, or lack thereof, still affects me twenty-five years later.

And whether or not one of the memorial candles on the altar will burn for him.

But DAMN I'm Debbie Downer today... I's gonna go back to bed and start this day over in a few hours.
Fair?
Fair.

Revisited Resolutions

So... it's be almost a year since I wrote this post...

Let's see how I did.

Shape up (why should this year be different from every other year of my adult life?).
FAIL...

Fix my problem with "da Benjamins."
Eh, could go either way. I'm getting better, but I don't think it's fixed.

Blog at least once a week.
To be fair, I do have more than 52 posts. Eh, more win than fail.

Meet Him. (No, not that Him. I'm not ready for Him. I mean Mr. Right.)
Win, big ugly beautiful hairy expensive amazing disgustingly wonderful win.

Become something meaningful.
This might be a draw. While I don't doubt I'm something meaningful to someone, I'm still not sure how meaningful I am to myself.

Do something substantial.
I said yes, and next year I will embark on the greatest adventure I've had yet. I may or may not kill someone in the process.

Love myself a little better (So that He can love me at all).
He loves me just the way I am..

Not break a heart.
Win.

Find patience.
Uhm...

Find happiness.
Double win, triple win even.

Not roll my eyes when someone (anyone) reads this and mentions my relationship with that Him.
Win, since no one read it.

Hone my wordsmithing skills. (Not a word, I know.)
Win...ish.

My resolutions

Shape up (why should this year be different from every other year of my adult life?).

Fix my problem with "da Benjamins."

Blog at least once a week.

Meet Him. (No, not that Him. I'm not ready for Him. I mean Mr. Right.)

Become something meaningful.

Do something substantial.

Love myself a little better (So that He can love me at all).

Not break a heart.

Find patience.

Find happiness.

Not roll my eyes when someone (anyone) reads this and mentions my relationship with that Him.

Hone my wordsmithing skills. (Not a word, I know.)

Paternal Religious Reason

Pop dragged me to his singles group tonight. Okay, okay, okay, "dragged" is a little harsh. He asked, and I agreed. I knew it would make him happy, and every now and then I try to do things to make him happy.

Little back story for the confuddled:

Poppa, my biological father, is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian. He eats, sleeps, and breathes Christ the Savior. So does his wife. Every detail about everyday is Jesus this and Christ that. This is a turn off.

Poppa is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian.

I am so not. I'm a recently confirmed Catholic, but this is not about my religion, this is about Poppa and Singles Group.

Enough backstory, back to the story:

He's persistent. I don't care how many times I tell him no, he insists that I accompany him on these excursion. "Go to this with me." "Go to that with me." I usually go because it's the only way I can spend time with him. He will not pass on fellowship to spend quality time with his first born (or any subsequent born). I'm also a spectator, and I enjoy watching other people. Call it amatuer anthropology, if you will. Even if I don't agree with these people, I'll gladly meet them half way to understanding (I'd appreciate the same consideration every once in a while, but alas, another tale-and battle-for another time). Anyway, I went to singles, and listen to more FECs discuss Jesus Christ and how He inhabits every moment of every day.

It was as utterly uncomfortable as every other time I "participate" in his religious goings-on. Though this time, nobody told me I was going to Hell, so I guess that's a plus.

I resigned myself to outsider status years ago. This evening was no different.

I don't even remember the point of this post. Just blowing off steam.