Who the hell am I?
I am a lot of things: the sum of my experiences—most of which have been pretty weird. This is apparent in my writing.
I am also an animal lover, cats in particular. I am a freelance writer and have been very fortunate in getting gigs. Well, most of the time.
I don’t have any kids which I sort of regret because I think I’d have been a good mother. IF they’d been born not a minute before my late 40’s. Before then I was too selfish and narcissistic. My children would have been snotty little criminals if I’d had them in my 20’s.
These are some things I like:
Languages, linguistics, learning about obscure subjects, obsolete punctuation, rainy days, dreaming, being alone, writing, more writing, moose, Connecticut, Chicago, Europe, the paranormal…
I’m kind of wimpy but am beginning to grow a backbone. I come from a long line of strong capable women; it makes no sense that I am just now learning to stand up for myself. Yet another of life’s cruel jokes, it seems.
I miss all my family and friends who have passed away, and look forward to seeing them again. I won’t blatantly force this reunion.
This post has evolved into an incoherent ramble.
In short, I don’t know who I am exactly.
If my therapist were still around, I’d ask her. If anyone knows who the hell I am, she does.
It should be somewhere in her notes.
The Daily Post: Fishing