The Thinking Other Woman

So my condo right now is a fucking mess. I had a major plumbing disaster which really started last summer. It wasn't fixed right then, so the problems dragged on for months, including an entire month of no electrical power to the kitchen, dining area, and laundry room ... which means I basically haven't had the use of a working kitchen for the better part of six months. I have so much shit to clean up.


The good thing was I got a new bathroom floor out of it, and a new bathroom sink and vanity. They also painted the kitchen. This has all kicked off a home remodel, which I am going to be straining and struggling to afford for the next several years. But it should be beautiful when I'm done ... and barring any major health problems, I will be able to enjoy it until it's time for the nursing home, instead of struggling to pay bills and save for twenty more years, finally do it, and then end up in a nursing home six months later.


So I'm in here today trying to clean up the mess. One thing I did was scrub up my old coffee pot, a Starbucks Barista Quattro I've had for years and years.


Probably I could and should just get rid of it, but there's a lot of feelings attached to that old coffee pot. At the time I bought it, it was like $150.00 regular price, which was a fortune to me back then. At that time Starbucks was still open til 11 pm. Our writer's group met every other Monday night, and when the meeting was over we'd all walk down to Starbucks and drink coffee and shoot the breeze til closing. It was the first time I'd ever felt like the person other people liked (although they expressed that by shooting other people down, which made me feel bad because that had been ME most of my life before that.)


I bought the coffee pot during one of those times, right after Christmas when it was marked down to like $80.00--still a fortune to me, but I could just afford it, and it was a small coffee pot, it was Starbucks, and I really wanted it, so I treated myself. I remember we were all there, all the old friends I had, the guy I eventually married, and the guy this website is about.


That coffee pot and those memories make me so sad. Yet, I can't throw the pot away.


So much has changed. I remember how much I was struggling in my career. I was terrified I was going to end up unemployable and fired from every job I would ever have. I remember that the support of everyone in writer's group made me so hopeful that I wasn't really meant to do what I was doing, I was meant to be a writer, and there was hope and I should just power on through. And I had friends and that made me happy.


I had such stupid plans then. I thought I would become a bestseller writing fan fiction. God, was I an idiot. When I finally realized I had to write an original novel, I had the same ridiculous expectations and same stupid optimism. Then my late husband asked me out, and I thought we were on our way. 


We were ... to getting bogged down in family caregiving, brain cancer, early widowhood, and then the other guy who just shone out to me in there ... absolutely broke my heart, I found out I'm really not much of a storyteller, I can't expect anybody much to read my writing ... and I'm heading into old age and my life is pretty much over.


I look back at how happy I was and how naive I was. I sure was an idiot. If I hadn't been such a narcissist then, I wouldn't have had such high expectations, and life wouldn't feel like such a barren wasteland now.


But ... I was really up against it back then. Things were so awful at home, I KNEW I couldn't go back there. Things weren't going well at work, and I really was terrified. I really did think I was going to end up homeless.


If I hadn't had that as a dream, and I hadn't had the hope then that I could achieve it, I don't know how I would have kept on going.


Now, I don't have that dream anymore. I don't have any dreams anymore. Getting this house remodeled, that's about it.


It's not a good feeling. But, what dreams are you supposed to have when you're fat, tired, old, and fifty-five?? I might as well say sixty. Old Ladyhood is here.


What dreams can you have? Oh, maybe I can get ten followers on Wattpad if I'm very, very lucky.


It isn't much. My whole life hasn't been much.


It's really hard to look back on all that's happened and feel much good about anything. It's really hard to feel happy about anything at all.


Old age is supposed to be the time people become happy and find contentment in life. I sure would like to know who those people are. Something tells me they don't have nearly so much sadness and disappointment to look back on.