Ramblings of a Middle Aged Lunatic

                I’m a people pleaser.   I enjoy going out of my way to make others feel worthy, special, and good about themselves.   I’m childless, and at forty-four years of age, I think it’s safe to assume I will not be contributing to the gene pool.   I feel I’m making my contribution to the universe by being good to others, and that if I’m good to others, it will inspire them to be good too, with the end result that I’ll be leaving this world a better place than when I entered it.                 However, I’m only human.   There are aspects of human nature that we all possess, such as being self-centered and selfish, and although I wish I didn’t have those traits, I’m imperfect.   I am flawed, like everyone else.   I’m not a saint, nor am I the next Mother Theresa, and I’m sure even Mother Theresa was a bitch when she was PMSING.                 These are my confessions: 1.        It DOES Make Me Feel Good to Do Things for Others.   I suppose if I was a completely altrui

                Her name was Carol, and she was my ex boyfriend’s wife.                 If you’ve read my semi-autobiographical novel, The Playground , that particular jackass appears as Terry.   Terry was an eyeglass wearing, pocket protector sporting nerd, but through the magic of the internet, he’d morphed into a player, using and discarding women like toilet paper.   He ghosted on me not once, not twice, but many times, because I am a fucking slow learner.   Terry would vanish without warning, only to emerge months later, begging for another chance and spouting a bunch of lines plagiarized from chick flicks.                 Every time Terry ghosted, I swore I wouldn’t give him another chance, but he always managed to break down my resistance when he reappeared.   Within an embarrassingly short amount of time, he would convince me that he did really love me, couldn’t forget me, and just maybe we were meant to be together.                 I wanted a love story so badly, I w

        I've said the thing I most wanted in the entire world was to be a writer, and that's not a lie.  But today I realized there was something I wanted even more.  I always wanted to be thin.  And that dream has proven more elusive than achieving the goal of becoming a writer.        Of all the wars fought in my life, the biggest one, one that I will ultimately lose no matter how hard and long the battle, is the one with my weight.  Unfortunately my body fights this war on many fronts.  There is the emotional eating front, the likes-fattening-food front, the no time to make decent meals front, things ostensibly within my control, and there are things that are out of my control, like my genes.  Combined, it means that ultimately the war with my weight will be lost.  If not fat today, I will be fat tomorrow.         I've come to realize something over the past few days, as I've watched several Facebook friends struggle with dire medical diagnoses.  Battling my own