Being Normal


I love my hair. I wanted a pixie cut since junior high. I’m 43 years old. I’m more concerned with being happy with what I see in the mirror than with what a potential romantic partner sees in me. It’s wonderful, being able to look the way that I want, not feeling constrained by someone else’s opinion.

I spent the first half of my life skinny. Having cleavage and curves is a new experience. I’m not particularly interested in what anyone else thinks about my size. It’s my body. If you don’t like it, quit gaping at it.

I like my work. I get paid for writing, and then I write for pleasure. I don’t work Monday-Friday, 9-5. I’d like to make more money, like everyone else would, but I’m thankful that I have a job. Quite often, I’m working while the people who look down their noses at me are relaxing. Does that make me better than them?

I like my hobbies. I love my garden. I really enjoy my doll collection. I don’t give a tinker’s dam what anyone thinks because everyone has a hobby that someone else finds stupid, boring, etc.

I do not give a fuck what anyone thinks about me living with my mother. She’s 68, walks with a cane, and needs a hip replacement. I do the bending and the lifting and going up and down the stairs to the basement and changing of bulbs in overhead lights and all the other crap that the fallow little snots who think they know all about me by my Twitter selfie take for granted.

I have two cats. My mother has a dog. WE have two cats and a dog. My ex had an iguana. My friend next door has two dogs. My new neighbor has a cat and a kitten. My neighbors across the street have a bird. I’d like to have a pair of ferrets, but I’m allergic to rodents 😦 Wait, what does any of this matter?

I like blue. And purple. And red. And pink. I love the fragrance of grape hyacinths and clean cotton sheets. I like nose piercings, the tiny little piercings, but I’m afraid to get one, but I have a tattoo that goes from my ankle almost to my knee.

Nothing anyone says to me online is going to make me change anything about my life. That’s Realityland. That’s adulting. I work and I care for my mother and our pets and I write and I garden and I take pictures.

Anyone who finds fault with that has problems that can only be solved by a psychiatrist.

Happy being normal to everyone who sees some aspect of their own lives in this post.


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