Growing Things

As I drove west on 86, alongside lonely tractor trailers, exit gas stations, over rolling hills and along the “mighty” Chemung which is currently defining “tame,” I thought of how different life is now. How different I am, yet in many ways not different at all.

I’m still overweight, still fight battles with my unruly hair, still have a broken front tooth and more cavities or fillings than I can count… I’m near-sighted, a spendthrift, snore like a lusty chainsaw, am bipolar (& always will be), easily distracted, rarely organized, and maybe a slob… plus I don’t dress well.

But I don’t hate myself anymore.

I can say with some degree of certainty and a little confidence, that I’m an artist and writer. I am definitely confident talking as a tutor. I know people appreciate my work. I have some few very good friends and a decent number of friendly friends, and many happy acquaintances. I know I make a positive difference in my community whenever I can. I know that I’m usually pretty reliable. I know that I have useful skills and my personality usually puts people at ease and welcomes them in.  

I am talking to men and am comfortable saying I won’t date this one because he said that whites & blacks dating is “gross.” Actually, buddy, when my former lover and I had sex, it was absofrickinglutely gorgeous seeing my pale as marble skin and his espresso bean rich brown skin laying together. And I can say this one is too intense and not be upset, in fact laugh, when he tells me, “Thanks for wasting my time.” Awww, no more kitten ecards??? Drat!

I can say I like spending time with him, even if I don’t know if it will last, because it’s just dating. And I enjoy this guy who’s more mature than so many men my age, but makes me laugh!! Damn it’s hot!

I can drive home and marvel that I am the growing thing. I am blossoming here, where I was uprooted and shoved in – because I made my own garden bed, sourced my own mulch, weeded out the shit, cleaned the water – I created the garden that I wanted to grow in and now, wonder of wonders, there are bees coming for my nectar and I not only get to choose, I wanna be choosy.  

Fascinating.

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