Sitting at dinner. Favorite Italian place down the street. Overheard at table in front of me: two middle-aged ladies telling a young man that he didnt have to hang out with a certain friend now, regardless of the friend's needs, because he "was busy raising a family." They go on about how children only get to see you for small amounts during the day and they're soooo important and ladeefuckingdaaa. Yeeeeah. I get the rest of my dinner to go for tomorrow's lunch and some dessert to go and head to Publix for some wine and cheese and some kind of snack I can eat at home without listening to them yammer.
Given recent circumstances, and given my extremely outspoken and unorthodox outlook prior to recent circumstances,(and maybe given the second glass of ripasso I'm consuming,) I want to stand up and slap the shit out of them. I'd like to say: First of all, families don't have to include children, bitches. They can be one man and a dog or one woman and 3 cats and a fish and a snake. Or they can be a man and woman. Period. Or they can be two men or women that adore and support each other.
(By the way, if you don't agree with this part, move on. The point is not whether you're politically inclined toward the left or right, but that a family is composed of any number of living beings who live in love. That's my view, and I'm not interested in your disagreement, or even your agreement. I'm just saying what I feel.)
Anyway...now I'm completely convinced that children aren't for me, even more than I was before, although I try not to think too seriously about recent events. Suffice it to say that me and Arnie and Kona and Girlie are a family....with or without a man or a child...
I go get some wine to take home and go enjoy my little family and food (and wonder when my pants will fit again and if my bank account will ever be sufficient.) As red wine loosens my lips and I am very emotional, it's no surprise that I come home and sample the parsnip chips, the port salut cheese, and an empanada with 3 tostones and blog a whole lot more.
Oh yeah. And drink more wine.
Self-loathing much? Or how about bitter? Bitter was a few exits ago, I believe.
When do I get to cut myself a break? I mean that both ways - when do I stop giving myself a hard time for the occasional eating and drinking (and laziness) indiscretion, in light of all I've been through? And when do I stop and just slap myself together, even better than I was before?
Either way, it's time for more wine.