about time to write

It is fall, it is October. I haven't written all summer, because I have been too darn busy. Happily so sometimes, not so, others. And I still cannot figure out how to paragraph this blog. so run on, read on. Anyway, it has been a summer, and independently I will deal with events, food, fun, and sun. And, the god damn problem when you forget your password which has been the problem the last 3 weeks. You are not supposed to have the same password, but since I don't have enough money for a Swiss bank account, and could care less if the FBI, CIA,or Interpol accesses my records, I have decided to use the same password all around. So I am back to school and cooking, and avoiding grading, and drinking a hell of a lot of wine because the first day back I called my retirement fund to figure out WHEN I can leave the bureaucracy of schools. Schools are a dying organization, I don't believe in the system anymore, but am too wedded Siamese-like at the hip, heart, and bank account to leave them without a transfusion. But soon. So, what the topic tonight/ so many as I drove, and fished, loved, and lived this summer. I am now entering the anniversary of my first year divorced, in my condo, living alone and making my way. Some events, most, are greatly better, and yet, the financial remains crushingly so even though I have three jobs, and am working so hard to save. But I am a procrastinator in checking facts and accounts, and have blown in fees, and head gaskets what I worked so hard for this summer. damn. double damn. yep, yep, I am happy I have the skills with my Masters to turn out waffles and eggs for inn guests for the money. I work my ass off, but until I re-fi I am really working for the $65 or so a week I make in extra classes. Divorce sucks, but living in a relationship which has gangrene is worse; in many ways I am SO better off. It is only money; my friend tomorrow has a kidney operation, one has a sister in intensive, and I am not dying. But the rubber band of stress is crushing, I am taking sleeping pills to sleep and wake up at 4 with carpal tunnel. I have loves, and friends, and family, and great great support, but cannot tell them just how tense I am; if I tell, will they leave? Will they cut out? Should I have told my worries last year, lst marriage, second marriage, last life, last child? Is everyone else in the same Ark and we are all headed downstream to the rapids of old age in small rooms smelling of cats? God, I hope someone loves me and stays with it, and wants me to cook for them, and hug them and they back. I want someone's love to last, I want to be worthy, and what if they find out my flaws? Because, between me and this blog, sitting here working off a pantry telling myself I don't need anything is crap, it is a lie. I need a hug, I need to feel that I can cook and shop, not be resourceful, and I need my daughter not to know just how tense I am. More wine, more Merlot, hug the dogs, lie in the warm bed made by love, and wait, wait until I feel better to write. I am back, and there is more to say. food later, finances now. No, I lie, tv and murder, mindless drivel, climb into my bed made by newness and try to sleep until 4 when I get up to work. I'm back.