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Pressing On

Nothing inside me seems to find any reason to not be happy for you. I am. But then I’m not. There are two different sides of happiness in me; there is the legitimate one where I get so excited to hear everything about this road in your life that talking about every day. I give you my huge hug, filled with all the love that I have inside me. I make my little sarcastic comments on all of your pictures that I see.

Then there is the other happiness that does not want to come out. The one, that deep down inside, just has me put on my fake smile and stare at the wall when parents tell the stories about what their child has accomplished, what number grandchild this now is, what new promotion is now in effect, or what golden road of opportunity has opened up for their overzealous super child . My bones and muscles begin to ache with the side of this happiness that overwhelms me.

It just makes me add to my list of what I need to accomplish in life. Happiness is one of them. The average age that a man and woman get married is 29 and 27. By age 25 is when a woman would have a child, on average. I am 30, never have I been in a relationship and I am unemployed living with my parents. So I suppose I am allowed to have my unhappy days, on occasion. I do have my sunshine around me. I tend to look on the downsides of them, though.

I am always told to press on, look on the brighter side I hear is in this life of ours. I try. If I am able to get out of my bed, put my pants on one day after the other, then this means that I want to continue to move on, even if I look on the darker side of the sun. The moon, I will call it. I keep my eyes on the moony side of life. If Mr. Armstrong can walk on the moon, and no person has set foot on this sun of ours, than it appears the moon is that one rock in my life that I should be looking at. The good, the bad, the mad, the sad, my happiness is buried somewhere inside me. She does come out from time to time. But just because she’s not always on my face, I’m still always pressing on.

I press on only when I see what I have added to my list. If my “List of Life” does not grow, then I know there is no reason to redevelop. Yet, since I do continue to add what I need to do, then I need to get off my ass and go. As cute as they are, with all of their grey fur and big, fuzzy white ears, I am not a koala. 22 hours is far too much sleep for me.

Get Out Of My Head. Please.

When a man loves a woman is a whole lot different than when a woman loves a man.  To me it is anyway.  What does this whole “love” mean anyway? When you love someone, does that mean you have to tell them?  How do you know that it is really love?  What if it’s just that “like” disease that keeps going around?  How are we supposed to know the difference?!  I do know that the person you’re thinking of, the one that won’t leave your head.  The one whose face you think about every morning. What they said the other day still makes you smile.  This could be the one that you stalk every day, which means that you’re way too overly in love with them and that it’s time to abandon ship.

So maybe I just like them.  Maybe I only think of them sometimes.  They still bring that stupid smile to my face whenever I see them.  They also bring a quake to my heart when I think of them no knowing.  I think of what might happen if they did know, though.  How I, the type that has no problem dancing, sober on street corners, would feel.

I have sent out my winks, my hellos, my “what’s up’s'”, on my dating sites that I have about given up on.  I have left my phone number for the guys that I have talked to at bars or been served to at Taco Bells.  Yet, I cannot seem to express these emotions for someone whom I have known for what feels like forever.  I feel I was so young with the one.  For another, I feel I was, I do not know.  His eyes and his smile always pull me in.

I can leave my number on the table for my waiter, yet I can’t leave a post-it on their doors. Perhaps a postcard is the answer!  I can be the best with my words in writing, since I would re-write my emotions eight times.  Or, maybe just be very blunt: I LIKE YOU, in big black ink.  I would send it with no return address and make sure to post mark it from Novi.  Check and make.  My puzzle is solved, my life can now go on!  Maybe I should tell one.  Or let my Faiths decide.  I just wish they would hurry.

There Is More To Talk About!

There are things to look for in a relationship other than sex. I do know that is one of the attractions that two people feel towards each other, though. I also know it might be the only way they feel for each other. They may not what to cross that line of love or continue to learn anything more about each other. Some are just not attracted to another in certain ways.

 The road to love, however, works other ways. Sex usually does not happen on the first date. Sometimes. I know it depends person to person. It is not the only thing two adults speak about constantly. Well, I do know it is, usually within the first month, the two begin dating and getting to know each other, once they have become consensual with each other, the hands come out and the clothes are off. But a normal conversation is had on a normal, sunny day.

 When a text is sent or a chat is began, there is more to ask then the inappropriate. There is more to learn of a person’s day than what they were wearing “under their pants”. Underwear. Plane, white, old haggy undies that I found in my grandmothers closet is what I chose to wear today! And then some oil spilled in the Atlantic and more bombs went off in Iraq. Moving on.

 I tried. I steered the conversation to the smallest, simplest issues, but he would just reel them back in. Second chances I like to give. Third place is never a loser. Yet when you seem to only want one item from me, this blossom does not give her cherries for free. Though that does make me sound more like a prostitute.

 I want a man who wants a woman he wants for more than one thing. I want one that can handle me, as you all know how I am in my not so normal life. Humor, aggravation, forgetful, love, adventure, hugs, repeat, learning, repeat. These are a few that I hope I will find in him on this road I still feel that I am lost on.

What Color Is That Sky?

Sometimes I wonder why we choose the colors that we love so much. I love purple, yet most of my apparel seems to be in green. I do love that color as well, but if I had to choose between them, if it was a life or death, green or purple, I would have to go down the violet road of life. I even look around my room and see many items in this glorious color; my fluffy, plum pillow. Some bright, lavender lights around my window. And even a piece of mauve glass I had recently pieced together of a dog and a cat. The cat, though, is also in green. So I guess green is also my favorite. Sorry, Steven Tyler, pink may be yours, but I am not a huge fan of that. This now makes me wonder what draws us all to our colors.

We all know that a thought often makes us hotter than fire. Well, Mr. Longfellow; what makes my thoughts cool down? The colors in the sky? Or, do they even make me think in a better way? I am one who never seems to have a good thought on their plate. I always seem to have the bad seed of the apple. I don’t know why. I tell myself to look on the upside, but then I continue to gaze at the negatives.

I believe this is all only up there because I’m on my first conference call that I have ever been on, and the other lady that is really annoying. I feel like she is trying to be the more dominant speaker. Plus, I am not really seeing a point to this call yet. It almost sounds like all this advice is something that I have already been doing. I already do my resume, like this career “counselor” is suggesting. I already continue my job searches daily. I just always seem to be the heads landing face down when employers toss their coins to help make their decision.

The employer can choose something so simple. I have my difficult days even choosing which piece of underwear I should wear for the day. With what little quality I have, are they willing to take a risk on me? Perhaps, maybe, if I’m wearing their favorite color.

Starbucks vs. 7-11

I figured since I’m so bored on this cloudy, dismal day, that I would just go and visit my sister at Starbucks. Plus, it means I would get my Carmel macchiato free. I drive all the way to Southfield, when I’m sure there are three other Starbucks around me. Yet I will still travel thirty minutes to another. It’s all for family. And free coffee. Yet I waste the same amount in gas, considering in today’s prices it cost basically the same. So, I did pretty much pay for my espresso. You’re welcome America!

I also feel that after this, even though I’m getting my jump start on life in this drink, I will still make another 7-11 stop. Yet looking on my MapQuest (which I see Google has conquered) NO 7-11 on Southfield road! None! I know there’s another Starbucks up a few blocks, yet no 7-11. Yet Greenfield, the next main road east has two within two miles, three almost! What is with this state? It’s putting itself more and more on my “I Hate” list. I should compile that one day. I have my “Things to Do Before 50” list, which I should also get started on.

I still wish her Starbucks wasn’t so far. I would go sit here an hour a day to free my mind if she wasn’t so damn far. Also, if I wasn’t so broke this week I would be here. This is why I need a nice chair on my front porch, or a picnic table. If I could just figure out how my favorite frap chino was made, I would also get one of those fancy machines and just make it all myself.

I had thought months ago about writing “My Guy Mistakes”, all five of them, maybe just four. Sad that I can’t remember how many there have been. Chris, Tony, Gary, That one dude I met on Match (I’ll remember his name!) but I swear there was another. I probably just want to put Kevin in here because I still always think the “what if”? I know I’m with Brian now, who I know I love. But then I can’t get out of my head all of the crap he does that bothers me. How he never seems to listen, though I think that’s natural for all men. He has no imagination. He always seems to have to criticize everything. It’s because he’s such a technical guy, whereas I’m more imaginative. I think of the world in color, where as he thinks of it as black and white. I also think I’m just so blown up over how he feels that he has to redo my resume his way. He bets I will get a response right away. This state sucks! The only response I would probably get is another “Sorry we’re not hiring.”

I’m at the point where I feel like he’s trying to control everything about me. If I want help, thanks, if not, leave me alone! Not to mention, he thinks I don’t trust him. Well, I trusted him enough to call him instead of my mom last night when I felt like I wasn’t feeling right. I felt like my head was not being in its right state, and I know what those states can mean. I felt I needed someone, like I shouldn’t be alone. I got nothing. He didn’t offer to come over, just told me it would all go away. He has no idea what goes on in my mind. He has no idea how I feel. Yet he compares this all to how he still thinks he had one before. ONE! I have had countless seizures in many different forms. So, no he cannot get mad when I run to my mom instead of him.

I look at my friends and their guys, I wonder if they’re like me and him. Sometimes I don’t even feel like we ever have actual conversations. Unless I’m just focusing on the negatives, which we all know that I tend to do.

I play with my toenails constantly. My toenails and my eyebrows. I feel the constant need to pick at them. I never feel like they look good. My ladies at a nail salon I have very frequent visits to usual greet me with a very friendly “Here for eyebrow?” This just goes to show that I am not good at doing it myself.

How do I know what a defining time in my life is supposed to be? I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything. I guess I can take that back, I have lived on my own. I had a nice little two bedroom that the previous owners seem to have done so much to, and I thank them for that. I do know my home still needs work. It’s fifty years old, so what fifty year old home doesn’t need work? I’m still glad that it’s my home and that I am now able to rent it. I may not feel able to live on my own, but I still feel that I can “own” a home.

I have crossed that hill of 30 years, I still have loads of knowledge in this life to gain. Of what, I have no idea. I don’t think I will ever be an adult. But, so long as those bills are paid, that home is cared for, then I am cared for. I still feel that I live “alone”, having this whole upper half to myself. I do feel I need my parents as I can be easily frustrated. I still feel, though, that I am using me more and more.

A thought often makes us hotter than fire. Well, Mr. Longfellow; what makes my thoughts cool down? Or, what even makes me think better? I am one who never seems to have a good thought on their plate. I always seem to have the bad see of the apple. I don’t know why. I tell myself to look on the upside, but then I continue to gaze at the negatives.

Which makes me wonder sometimes, what is really in those stars up in the sky. Are the answers to life out there?

1 in 5 Begin Online

Why hello Miss Crocket, Miss Patricia Crocket. It has been a long time since I have even visited EHarmony. I never felt a need to tell you that you have failed me. Don’t worry, you’re not the only one of my dating sites I feel that has. But I just wanted to ask: why do you feel so trusted? Four years ago is when I know that I was a paying member. If I can think back that far, if I was with you guys three times, if I’m correct. This would mean I had begun my hunt for my love in December of 2009, when I was 25. Five years later I still sit here alone.

You claim that you are able to marry 438 people every day, on average. Your commercials also claim that you are the “…trusted #1 online dating site.” Those would be false. The number one site is actually Match.com, according to THREE different dating advice sites. I had no success with them either, though, but that’s another tale.
I only wonder where you think I put my heart every night. Do you think I really smile at the sun every day? I am not as bright a ray as I used to be. For sitting alone these long days and nights can bring ones sorrows down more and more. I just wonder why you think you can hold your head so high when I have no person to wrap my arms around after I had gone on a heartbreaking hunt.

And then there is you, Mr. George Bartlett, bringing me to January 30, 2011; I made my first attempt to show wd3368 that I was interested in him. I did receive a reply. Nothing happened from there. No date. Just a few emails, if I can even remember three years ago. I have kept a record of all of my attempts on your site, only so I didn’t make it seem like I was bothering the same guy.

I was only wanting a three month trial. I had wanted to because at that time, January 2011, I still had not been in a relationship. I had given my attempt at Eharmony prior to this and had no success, so I figured I would give you a try. Three years later, I still resigned with Match every three months and I think I had gone on, if I recall….two dates. I will not deny that I did briefly meet two guys on here and dated them for a short period (very short.) But after three years and 797 signs of interest sent, I still sit home alone on my Fridays. My heart gets broken more every time I see your commercials promoting how you have “…1 in 5 relationships begin online…”, and you“…lead to more dates, more relationships, and more marriages….” Okay; well where is mine after these three years?

I am not the type that wants to give up in this area, but my heart cannot give much more. I have now moved onto my THIRD dating site. I have been with you for three years, I have attended many of your events, yet I am still that one in the five that sits at home alone.

So, thank you, MatchHarmony, for helping this world continue to break my heart every day.

Dear Whoever

Dear Whoever,

I don’t even know why I’m writing. I’m just supposed to write every day. Every day, all day. Some days I don’t even know what to write about. Life? Love?  Really I complain about lately are these two things.  I make it seem that I have no happiness.  I just want one day for that to be here. But it doesn’t seem to want to be with me lately. I have tried so many ways to make it stay. My smile seems to dislike my face. The smallest can shove me back towards my black hole.

I know my life is not bad. I know there are far worse for others, yet they are able to keep their chin up and a hop in their step. I, being a bull in a china shop with my life, love and happiness, though, seem not able me to keep any smiles. I am very happy for you and all that is happening with you, though. But, then that tiny little bug of disappointment makes her way into my mind, begins to look around and around. “Well, how come you don’t have anyone that wants to buy a house with you?” “Why isn’t anyone one of your dating sites going out with you?” “How come not a person has responded to the your number that you had the balls to leave them?!?!”  This petty, little bug tried to push the happy pieces out, not allowing me to wish the good things for you, just allowing Negative Nancy to make her way back into my heart. She begins to think of all the nasty, disgusting comments to leave on your pages, for your pictures.  Grumpy cat is about to meet his match.

I appear also to not be meant for this, what is it called, employment? I believe I used to, maybe four, five years ago. I know back in those days, the highest levels of education weren’t required for what appeared to be the simplest careers. Employers did not wish for you to have multiple years of experience just to have you come in to make their copies and answer their phones. Ah, no, back in our youth, merely filling out their paper and handing over with a smile was basically the hiring process. Now, though, even after a person sends out 412 letters begging an employer, applies to 439 hiring companies and then sits on her floor while watching how a person is to meet another’s mother all day while still searching for whatever this country has, shows that she never gives up and never surrenders. Whether it be liberty or it be whatever this nation has hidden in those old historic walls. Perhaps that is where my Waldo is hidden with my heart, maybe even my boss. Hey, potato potatoe.

Thank you.


Stephanie Steele

Love Is In The Air

Oh hurrah! Another is moving so quickly down that road I am greatly beginning to loath, while I just stand and stare at. The road of love and happiness is what I believe it to be. I know that we were all put on this earth for one other person, at least that’s how I feel, but it may take us more than one sip before we find the good whiskey. These days, that’s all I feel the need for. I feel that I have been obsessing too much over relationships. I obsess only because I make it seem like my days are growing shorter. I know I am still a young gal and can accomplish so much. But hearing about one of my last people about ready to not live alone, but with the one that they love, I could feel my insides beginning to tear themselves apart. Maybe I had helped them find their other half, the half that they had turned three pages for and found. Well, wah-hoo, good for you! It’s only taken me three dating sites, twenty singles meet ups, and three speed dating’s and I still sit here, looking through my shrinking Facebook, wondering how long it will be before I am the last one. That’s a little more than three measly pages.
Why is love always in the air? There must be some way to get rid of it. Lysol maybe? This atom bomb I’m learning about, perhaps? I don’t mind “it”, that one time of year, since all that chocolate is involved. Of course, that is always just another time I begin to shallow away at hating my empty heart. There really are only two good days in a year, anyway: the 4th of July; this gives you an excuse to drink. And the 22nd of February, because, well, we must never forget our first president. What a great man he was!
Love should also not be in our Motorcitiy since these love bugs are more prone to the fresh, non-gasoline drenched air. Oh well, if they ever did make it through the snow, rain, or heat they would probably just smash themselves on a person’s windshield while flying from heart to heart.
My bed is still all mine, though. I get to lay wherever, however I want. Whereas all of you have to squeeze around those other halves of yours. The only benefit to them is those arms you get to feel, wrapped around you, as you drift away. Their scent you smell, as you breathe in their love. The only arms I have are mine and this breathe never smells as good as love is. Sometimes, I’m not even sure what that smell is, but you wouldn’t want to wake up to that.

So Little Time

The day I die we all know this world would not be able to go on. Flags would be lowered, businesses would close, countries would mourn. We all know that this is true. But, until this day comes, there is so much that I have to do! Yet I just sit. I sit and do nothing. I just continue to add to my list of what I want to accomplish, but make no attempt at any of them.

All 50 states is a big one. I need to see every single one of them. I am the type that would even count my visit to one if I just stopped at a rest area while passing through. So long as my feet touched their land, than I was in that state. This is how I would cross it off my list. Hawaii and Alaska do have to make themselves difficult, but I will see you! If their cruises weren’t so damn expensive, I would be there tomorrow. Alaska also makes you get a passport, since our Canadians above are no longer our allies.

I suppose I should also get married. It seems to be the new “in” thing these days. I would at least like to be in a relationship, find the one out there who was put on this Earth for me. The one that I feel I have been searching for, waiting for, for far too long. When I look at how long a person seems to be with their love before that rock comes out, will I be 35 when this engagement comes along? So this would just give me another reason to return to Las Vegas. Or just use city hall and then escape to one of my non-seen 50 states.

When I was 18, I think I wanted four children. I had them all planned out. I didn’t care if I had all girls or all boys, two of each or three and one. Just four. Now, at 30, I wonder if that is even possible. I would need them in consistency, not spaced apart by more than two years, since I would be 38 when I had my last. Then I would be 50ish when my first graduated high school (all of this is just guesstimates, coming from Ms. Nonmathmatics.) This is all a big if. It does take two to make a baby, and if I do not have my other half, I have nothing to feed my eggs.

With so many things to do, I still do not know what. I want to just wake up in the morning and see what the sun will bring. Day by day, my life goes on. I think I have enough time left to do whatever I want, whenever I want.

Zany To The Max

I love whiskey.  I don’t drink it for the wrong reasons.  I drink it for the fun ones.  There are the times that I feel I could use some on my down days, though.  The days when I turn to food, I wonder if maybe these whiskeys could be my magical potion, since chocolate is no angel to me.  Yet, Dr. Daniels seems to only increae my aggrivations with life, so I do not really have him that much.

Really making myself sound like an alcoholic when really my last consumption of liquor was probably two weeks ago.  If anything, I am cola addict.  I don’t want it, but I feel like I need it.  Some country guy brought it all up.  Really a Facebook post forced me to listen to his song.

I never listen to country music.  If it’s on, sure, but it is not one of my “genres”.  I couldn’t even name you an artist, Taylor McCintire maybe.  I can sit and enjoy my old time blue grass, listen to them banjo away, yet I cannot listen to Larry McGraw strum away on his wooden guitar as he’s singing along about drinking away his memories. 

I do love Emminem, though.  I love hearing how angry he is with his life and he’s being so nice, allowing me to rap along with him while I’m driving down Woodward.  I will forget to buy my mom her asprin, yet I can say his words with him that I believe I only learned from hearing three or four times. 

My mind works in mysterious ways. It always seems to.  Today, for example, I was singing along with a tape I had finally rewound.  The first song it begins to play is the opening theme song to the “Anamaniacs”.  I begin to sing along, word by word.  I have not seen or heard them in fifteen years, yet I still know what their beginning is.  I have to have my sister explain to me later how to find a Chinese resteraunt I have picked our dinner up at many time before, though.  I know it’s by a regular 7-11 of mine, yet my mind does not want to understand her.  I will remember some words to a childrens song from almost a whole other lie, yet the simplest straight directions my brain does not want to comprehend.

A period makes more than one type of a mess for me anyway.  I am not in this thinking, forgetful ways until my woman days of the month begin to approach.  I also wonder how less comprehensive other females are.  Do they not know what they did three hours ago?  Did they forget to purchase something they had been reminded numerous times, and even written on the paper in their hand?  Was an important appointment missed, even though their reminder did its job?  This all just increses my aggravation with my life.  I keep my post-its everywhere.  I carry paper and pen with me as well.  Yet my mind is not what it was before.  I feel it will always be this grumpy, old lady inside my head.  So, please, pass me my whiskey to help speed up what, I’m sure I won’t even remember.

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