Saturday, May 4, 2013

Meatloaf for Breakfast

Though pumpkin pie for breakfast is my true favorite, meatloaf for breakfast is more honest on this perky Saturday morning that finds me melancholy, bloggy.  After that one blog that grew and skirted too close to home and ten others I neglected, here is another.  This one is not special.  Who knows why I would be satisfied to start from a humble beginning, baring it all with no pretense and then not be willing to do it again.  I need this, the writing, and despite my google doc-foldered ambitions to be a "real" author, except don't use that cheesy word, it simply doesn't happen otherwise.  Once I made the transition away from writing on paper, aside from my chronic split-my-page-into-four-parts-lists, my journaling was spoiled.  I must reclaim it here and now.  Such ambition.  It is false.  It is tempermental.  And, worstly, it is earnest.

I am truly overwhelmed, in my first year of public school teaching, after a couple years at a private school, with a very young adult daughter with some seemingly serious health issues that remain undiagnosable.  Another daughter is eminently going off to a relatively expensive college and two precocious boys are just starting my adolescent parenting all over again.  I am hungry, angry, lonely and tired, all, except for the hungry.  I actually meet that need just fine, if not with higher-than-usual-quality school lunches, then with a sporadic mix of pizza, quinoa-infused healthspurts and salted caramel anything.  I spend my money lousily and if teaching has taught me anything, it is how horridly non-routine I am.  I revel in honesty, self-deprecation, and mostly complaining, but only in writing.  It must balance out of the utter neverness of my real-life complaining aside from sproradic, ineffective outbursts I save to push the ones I love away just when they started to think I was nice.

There it is my writing voice, defiantly unwilling to go forth and do this successfully, but obnoxious enough to not be satisfied until too much is said.  Good friend, I've missed you.

PS. This is in no way a food blog.  The above meatloaf for breakfast pick looks 80.4 times better than what I ate this morning, which may have made a funnier picture, except I ate it.  (Stolen from here:

PPS.  This one will stick, because there is no finer bloggiversary than May the Fourth, especially for someone who almost detests Star Wars.  I would say I prefer Star Trek, but that is kinda apple to oranges.  More relevantly, I prefer Flash Gordon.  (Pic stolen from here: I guess I do this picture credit thing, now.)

PPS.  I think what really got me blogging today was the feeling I had after I facebook stalked the pictures of the lady my ex (of two and a half years) got a retaliatory blow job from after I slept with a woman in the 10th and final withering year of our shacked up marriage.  He liked it.  The bastard, who I, in no way, shape or form, want to get back together with, but one of us has to go first in getting into something new and solid and it will probably be him.  Bastard.

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