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

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