No, there's no Limp Biskit to follow. I'm so sorry for those that googled that song and landed here. Yesterday, now that it's after midnight (no, don't get excited about JJ Kale either), is the anniversary of her coming home and promising to stay forever. She didn't. Please don't say I told you so. I have enough of that in my real life. The truth is that I'm better than OK. I'm dating a wonderful man (gasp, choke, recover - yes, a MAN) who thinks I'm the greatest thing thing since Slushies. And I think he's the greatest thing since the Civil Rights Movement. I'm happy. I'm happy, God Damnit!
So can we all agree that I deserve a song or two? I do love a jukebox! Let's start with this and then we'll carry on as all good southerners do . . .
So then there's the break-up tribute. Every last one of you has been here. In the immortal words of Kathy Griffin, "Let's go to the gutter; shall we?"
And then after every hurricane comes a rainbow, right? That's what we were promised. It's been about a year since the wheels came off. I thought I would never roll again, and honestly, friends, there were days I didn't care to. And then one day I walked out of therapy with my weekly homework in my satchel, and my Promise arrived in the shape of an old friend who (come to find out) had loved me all these years while I was completely unaware and completely in love elsewhere. And now, now I can't imagine anywhere without him. Ain't that some shit?
Life is a wild and mostly wonderful place. I'm glad to have you guys with which to hit the high points, while we're holding our common breaths, waiting for the plunge.
Thanks to those of you who, in your own lives inspire me by flinging your hands towards the Goddess and shouting, "Look, Mom! No Hands!"