Anacondas

I’m sucked in. I’m actually supposed to be working, but I turned on the television. Honestly I wonder how I manage to get sucked in to the tenth sequel of Anaconda. The first one was a blast. We have a joke that we have been saying for years that there is always a pickaxe  when you need one. But Anacondas: Hunt for the Blood Orchid? Seriously?

So I turn bad sci fi movies on for background noise when I’m working. Every once in a while I get totally caught up in the silliness. I think about how much fun it would be to one of these actors. I would love to be labeled as a B Movie actor. Think about it. Work hard for a living, truly entertain your viewers and get to work with goofy actors like yourself. And those special effects…just to be around the people who make them would be a total thrill. Oh but wait, I digress again…

Movie is over! I have to work!

Hummus

Two overweight people on bikes…you know the kind that you lay back on and peddle with your feet in front of you. Two older men on ten speeds…the kind that we rode in the 80s. Two suvs stopped in the turning lane at two different intersections of Winkler Road. Streams of brooding teenagers staring at their feet not talking to each other. Obnoxiously sunny, humid, hot winter day.

This is what I see on my way to parent pickup. It has the makings for a movie script. Only it’s not a campy horror movie this time. It’s a SciFi thriller with a depressing ending reminiscent of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The one with Donald Sutherland in it. Great actor. I was deep into the plot when I had to suddenly hit my brakes. Damn parent pickup line. Always gets in the way of a great movie plot.

And that’s one of my many problems. I love movies and serial tv shows. My ex used to tell me that I have my head in the clouds and couldn’t tell what reality is. I’m starting to think he may be right. I get so lost in shows and movies that I will watch them for 10 hours straight, even while I’m working. I think about them…in depth. I try to figure out what happens next or what happened before to make that person the way he is. The writers probably haven’t even written that yet. But I think about it. They aren’t real people. They’re characters. If I’m this screwed up over characters, I can’t imagine what the actors who play those characters feel when they are trying to live real life.

Do they have any idea what real life is? I suppose, if you think about it, real life is the life you are living. So the LA, NY, London jet set lifestyle of the rich and famous is real life. For them. The small, backwards town USA get up eat go to bed lifestyle is real life. For me. With no way to change it. No way out. At least for a few more years until my son graduates and possibly goes away to college. I have a strong feeling he won’t go away though. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to travel. He lives for a home routine. Which puts me here. Daydreaming about my next blockbuster movie script while eating a hummus, tomato and lettuce wrap.

But hey! At least I’m eating healthy.

Bent

I’m bent. Bent over the realization that I’m a forty-something year old woman who has to take care of herself, eat vegetables, exercise to maintain even a semblance of a decently shaped body and work on a hum drum existence that includes the house lost in a short sale, someone else’s car, 2 misbehaved kick dogs and one teenager. I have to admit. The teenager is the highlight to all of it. He doesn’t really talk back. He has decent grades. He more than partially tries to do well in his chosen hobbies.  He is a gamer, a geek and someone I can relate with. So that part really isn’t bad.

I did one thing right in this mess. I didn’t marry the man with whom I had a child. I am not the forty-something out-of-shape partially employed single mom going through a divorce like everyone else. I knew that guy was a loser in my young, bright eyed, still believed in Cinderella endings twenties. And in Florida, where marriage and child custody seems to favor the asshole in the relationship (male or female), I thank my one good decision every day. I raise my son my way and no one tells me when I can and can’t see him or tells me I have to share the decision-making process. I don’t get any financial support, but I wouldn’t have either way. Florida is one heck of a screwed up state.

In the state of the undecided, anyone can fire anyone for any reason at all. I believe we call it right to work and employment at will. I feel it should be called right to be unaccountable. In this lovely penis-shaped state, we supposedly have 50/50 custody laws and fair share child support and alimony. Read up on it sometime. It reads nicely. Then go talk to the many who have suffered through the long, painful, unbelievably expensive process. I believe both sides will tell you what a nightmare a Florida divorce truly is.

But I wandered off topic. So my doctors tell me I have to take care of myself. I’m getting up in years. Oh dear, I wander again. I don’t have insurance. I can’t afford health insurance, with or without Obamacare. I was paying over $450 per month prior to the new laws. I took a long look at what was available after the law was put in place…and I chose to pay the fines. People who cannot afford health insurance have to pay fines based on how much they make. Someone told me the other night that it would only be about $100. Do they have any idea how much that is? Probably not.

Even if the recession is over, or coming to an end…a single parent with no financial support living in a backwards town like this one will never find a job with a salary that will allow them to pay the bills, put some away for college for the kids and put some away for retirement. People in this situation don’t even think about retirement as a possibility.

I’m not blaming my situation on the President. It truly is my fault. I know that. I think that all politicians and the political process lost its way somewhere in the past two hundred years or so. Or maybe, once again, it looked great on paper, but the implementation was an inconceivable fairy tale left to people (old, white, male people) to make a reality. People, by nature, screw everything up. We have something good and we mangle it into a pile of maggot ridden poop.

I’m begrudgingly eating vegetables instead of potato chips, and I will have a vegan burger with portabella and roasted pepper for dinner in a bit here. I’m going to get back to stuffing envelopes with donation requests for the event I’m planning while mindlessly watching another action packed episode of Agents of SHIELD. BUT I’m smiling right now. It felt good to vent. To write it down and get it out. To allow myself to feel freely and not hide behind the veil of “How are you? I’m good” syndrome.

Maybe I should do this more often.