Just because its reality does not mean it’s ok to be there.

My reality now is pretty far from where I thought it would be. I just smoked some pot, having a butt and writing in my alley. I’ve just maxxed out another credit card and I am working all of my angles at avoiding reality. Quite frankly, I am afraid. I am scared. I fear the reality of my mind and of my life.

Fear is funny in ways.  It steals from us and takes away our dignity. It makes us believe in magic.

I’m OK with loneliness. Don’t fancy me the lonely kept wife. Not me. You know what I ‘m afraid of—first thing that comes to mind, I am afraid of not being the woman that I thought I was supposed to be.  I am not the doting wife, the crafty mom, certainly not the housekeeper, and all of those archaic notions of womanhood.

I love my kids—I love my husband very much. But the buck stops there in terms of “regular”.

My husband, he is a great provider, friend and partner. After thirteen years together I am willing to accept what he is not. We enjoy each other’s company and we work well as a team.  We are separated and living together as a team. We have separate personal lives and go on “solo”.

{No matter who it is or how much you love them—they cannot fill all of your needs. The sooner you accept that and live that the sooner you will be satisfied with something.} 

Sounds easy, but how many times do we find ourselves complaining about people not doing things when they can’t or won’t?

Every day, I see people in Bucks.  I think they are afraid. Of what, I don’t really give a shit. They won’t look in your eyes, won’t say hello—that is fear! Fear of judgment. Is that what I am afraid of? Am I afraid that my “Modern Family” is wrong, or is perverse in some form or another? No! I don’t think that is my worry.  I don’t give a rat’s ass what “they” think.  Fear of loneliness, nah, I’m not that either.  I know I am loved, I know that if the shoe drops, somebody will be there to give me a hug. 

Mind you—not really a hugger.

{Unless you’re gonna grab my ass while you’re at it!}

I’ll tell you what I am afraid of—I am fuckin’ afraid of being the woman who is OK with her sexuality, and her lack of want for teddy bears and hand holding.

Copyright © 2011-2012. Eggs.Smoke.Sex. All rights reserved.

Words and images on this blog are copyrighted and not to be reproduced in any way without my express permission in writing. Please contact me with any queries at cognitive-ly@live.com


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