After I die, someone that knows me will find this blog and think: Jesus fucking Christ. I had no idea. How did she ever even get out of bed?

And I shall whisper in their ear: Good fucking question.


I just miss you.

I am afraid.

“How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”

Virginia Woolf, Selected Essays

Thousand and thousands of times, would be my best guess.

And that's just for me.

Ten Years After

Not the band…

But the age of the mattress I sleep on.

How can I remember?

Because Bob bought the set when he moved to Saratoga in the spring of 2007.

I remember meeting him for the first time.

He walked past my desk after the then current dean introduced us. He turned and looked back at me and smiled a. very. big. grin.

A few short months after that, we began our relationship.

August 10, 2007.

Ten years later, things are not anything like I had imagined they would be.

Nothing has happened the way he told me it would. Nothing is panning out as we had imagined. Nothing is as wonderful as the life he promised me, over and over and over and over.

So, that’s what I do in this bed. Turn over and over and over and over.

This old, stained, squishy, lumpy, replaceable, unattractive, worn out, once loved and cherished thing has seen better days.

And so has this mattress.

“And in the end, nothing really matters…”

Girl take a seat, rest your weary bones

Your secret’s safe in my hands

Tell me about the years and

Let me buy an hour

Maybe help me to understand

Ain’t nobody callin’

Ain’t nobody home

What a lovely day to be lonely

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life 

Holding on for love.

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life oh

Holding on for love.
Light another cigarette

Burning in the cold

Waiting on the street for your man

You’re trying not to look so

Young and miserable

You gotta get your kicks while you can

In the lighted corner, sitting on your own

What a lovely day to be lonely

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life oh

Holding on for love.

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life 

Holding on for love.

Well you might belong to another time

Still you have to carry on here

No where else to go and you never know

What to hide and what to show, no

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life oh

Holding on for love.

You’re holding on for life

Holding on for life 

Holding on for love.
~ Mercier/Burton

Girl talk ❤️

My daughter and her best friend have been besties for 20 years. They’re both 30.

A. (No…I’m not trying to rip off Pretty Little Liars…) has spent an immeasurable amount of time with my daughter, with our family, with me, in my home, on road trips, holidays, vacations, shopping, sleepovers, dining out – for breakfast, lunch, dinner and everything in between – and living with me, no questions asked, for three weeks straight after they graduated (together) from college.

We’ve shared driving lessons, graduations, birthdays, award ceremonies, concerts, first days of school, last days of school, first kisses, first boyfriends, engagements, weddings, and now…

A. had a baby girl last week. ❤️

There were some pregnancy complications – very serious ones – and labor went on for three days, culminating in a c-section. The baby weighed in at only 3.5 pounds, but is, amazingly relatively healthy. She is a fighter, no doubt.

So, my girls will have girls that will grow up together and will more than likely, be as deeply connected as their mothers.

My daughter and A. are three months apart. Their girls will be three months apart. On one hand, it’s unbelievable, yet on the other, it makes perfect sense. What else could have happened, I mean really? ❤️

I received a thank you note from A. for a shower gift, and in addition to the usual thanks, she wrote that she couldn’t wait for her daughter and my granddaughter to benefit from having me to teach them and give them all the unforgettable kindness and generous experiences that I bestowed upon her and my daughter.

Powerful.  I have had such a difficult time finding sustainable light in the past few years. Bob was supposed to be here for all of this, instead he betrayed and rejected all of us. That thank you note, acknowledging my worth, lifted me in a way I’ve been longing for – searching for – hoping for.

I felt so validated. Important. I matter.

And I cannot wait to meet my granddaughter. ❤️

Ready, Steady, Go

I’m almost ready to reopen the box containing mementos of our time together and pare it down even more.

So bizarre.

I truly thought that one day, our grandchildren would go thru those “treasures” and want to hear the stories attached to them.

Bob and I often talked about what Trouble we were in for as grandparents…We’d be shopping and see things and remark how we’d have to buy this or that… A miniature Mini Cooper – or hey, a VW- a child can ride or a giant sized Lego pirate set or a child-size Red Sox baseball glove or the most adorable dollhouse ever made…And on and on and on…


It’s all only memories now.

And the absolute worst part about that?

The memories are mine alone.

When I’m dead, my son and daughter will just throw the box away.

It will all be gone.

When I’m dead, they’ll die with me.

How could this have happened? If he remembers any of it, he would be here. How could he not? But he obviously doesn’t. None of it – none of me – matters.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

But it will.

All the reminders of Bob…

And the love that was once so carefully and happily folded and tucked along side every souvenir and remembrance in that box is now just replaced with heartbreak and tears.

And lots and lots and lots of regret.

First . . . to Last

Lake George Aug 2007
Cancun Feb 2013

Beginning . . . to end . . .

And the entire ” . . . ”

I loved you.


I think I have suffered enough because of you.

This bed … right here…

It’s 2:15 am, four (horrible awful terrible excruciating painful traumatic) years after Bob moved out and it just hit me how often we would lay in bed telling each other how much we loved each other. So often we would use the same phrases, we especially like the little battle of  I love you I love you more etc. etc. etc. But it just popped in to my mind one of the things I would tell him was I love you more than all the grains of sand on all the beaches in the world. And I did. And he used to really like hear that.

Or so I thought anyway.

I guess after six years of it, he was officially over it all.

And I sure as hell wasn’t. I don’t think I ever will be.

I’m sorry this isn’t punctuated properly or spaced properly or just proper and whatever. Speaking to text and I’m just tired. So very very very very tired.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: