Hello dusty old blog, and those few that still get the notices, or if you do...take a peek. It's been a long time.
My muse, my writing friend has been absent, Tonight she has returned at least for a short while, so I'm hurrying before she escapes again,
I've spent my evening watching an adorable murder mystery on Netflix; my new habit. At least occasionally. And then She arrived with a message.
I am me again.
I spent thirty years being Gene's wife. Suppressing Renee. That's not to say I wasn't happy, or at least content, But I held me in check. Not watching silly shows. Not staying up too late. Not having a Jack & Pepsi after a long day.
Because Gene's wife needed to be a certain way.
She didn't have an adult beverage for no reason. Because alcoholism runs in her family and would evoke a concern of becoming her mother.
She wouldn't watch exactly what she wanted to, because it showed she had her own tastes and they may be different than expected. Or approved of.
That doesn't mean I did not love the man. I did, tremendously. I loved him enough to rearrange myself to his specifications, And I do miss him sometimes.
However, I spent thirty years missing something else.
I didn't even realize how much I missed that person.
The one that wore make-up and jewelry daily.
The one that randomly listened to heavy metal. Followed by pop rock. Then music passed on by Gramma.
The one that didn't button the very top button of her shirts.
That stayed up watching television or reading or crocheting until three in the morning because she felt like it. Because there was no need to get up early and interact.
The natural loner that is totally comfortable talking to herself, her pets, and yes...the appliances. And once in a while, conversing with her departed husband,
During this not quite a year since his passing, I've filled my time working. And watching exactly what I want,
And having an occasional adult beverage (with the knowledge of a genetic predisposition.)
Dressing to feel pretty. And pulling the giant hoop earrings out of hibernation and wearing them with determination of a 62 year old woman that will do as she pleases. And buying ALL the make-up to remember how to use it. (Because inside I am still 16 and will put on red lipstick for the pure joy of leaving it on the rim of my coffe cup!)
So don't be surprised by anything that shows up here. Sometimes the words just fall out of my fingers (and my mouth.)
Because Renee is back.
With a broadsword at her hip, a snark on her lips, and a glint in her eyes.
Time to saddle up the dragon and take flight!