Dancing with Myself in Snowspangled

I kind of win the bet I made with you guys about whether he would remember Valentine’s. Technically he did remember, but at 12:27 am, so it wasn’t Valentine’s anymore. But still so early he probably paid full price for the chocolate cherries. He also bought a card, but neither signed it nor wrote in it, so I guess I’ll return it to him for next year. Next year is shaping up to be the Last Valentine’s Day. Last everything. I aim to have this divorce on the tarmac by Christmas. Next Christmas, though. He still gets to forget this one.

The Plan is car-license-degree-apartment-divorce. Oh, and job. Heavy on the job. Which means, of course, that I am terrified I cannot hold a job. But I’m DOING WELL so far. My library supervisor LOVED me. She said so. Notetaking never called me in for a reprimand. I’ve actually never been told at work, other than Burger King by one boss (and we had lots with different styles) that I was a problem. And even then, her problem was with the way I treated HER. She wanted me to call her ma’am. Sometimes I forgot. I think we would have worked it out in time. But I was irritated by the mixy-matchy schedules and the sniping and the weird tasks she gave me. I quit. It’s okay. I think I can be okay with not being suited to fast food.

I did learn shit from being there that I won’t forget, though. So that’s fine.

I sent in that short story I wrote because the English professor who got it told me to. I intend to staple the rejection notice to his door. They promise a fast turnaround. I should have that by next week. I wonder if he’ll give me the $3 fee back. It’d be nice. I’m furious with the English department, even though it isn’t their fault I can’t afford to double major. Maybe there’s a string somewhere I can pull. Maybe there’s a scholarship for dried up old broads who just want to know they make grammatically correct prose. Or maybe it’s okay to give up there, too. I am close to that degree…but even closer to the Social Work one. The capstones are the problem right now. For some reason, they don’t seem to think I can balance two and an internship. I wonder if they even thought about the children, spouse, and housekeeping in all that. I certainly have to.

But getting that rejection, that’ll shut him up about potential. Obviously, I do not have potential. I just want to go be normal. Regular life, without hoping someone will show up and remember I exist. Regular parenting, without kids who have so many doctor visits a month. Regular everything. I want to live a life where someone thinks it is hilarious that my brain catalogues Muzak and I CAN usually name that tune. I want to remember to put up my Christmas tree and be okay making a few traditions now. I want to just go be a crazy old cat lady somewhere. I do not need a boy. I just happen to like sex. Well, when I live alone, I can have a door that shuts and a drawer that locks. Hello, sextoy land. It’s been a long time since I’ve been there. Wish I hadn’t left.

Send me gift cards for double A and C batteries, I guess. Because I can do all this shit myself.