Not tonight, I’m tired. I’m just not going to do it. I’m the boss of me. It doesn’t matter what you say or what you think. I don’t care. You’re not the boss, I am.
What’s that you say? You want me to or you don’t fancy one way or another if I do it or if I don’t. You couldn’t care any less but if you could you wouldn’t.
Do what, you ask? Well, write, of course. What did you think I meant?
This is all you get whether you wanted anything or not because I’m just too tired. I worked all day and did a lot of shopping and got up late to start with — and now it’s time for lying down and sleeping or watching borrowed movies — besides which, I worked on several drafts that ended up in Nowheresville and I can barely hold my head up from all that heavy lifting.
Goodnight my friends and enemies. I’ll catch you on the morrow.
Veronica was the very first doll that I have any memory of. At some point in her early life, she got a haircut. My mother wasn’t happy, but she forgave me. I still have Veronica with her short do and she was somewhat small for a small little girl. Annie Laurie was next and she was big enough to hold just like a baby. She had a stroller too. She spent the first part of my life, rarely separate from me — she and Bar, who was my bear. He was bigger than Annie and since Annie had to go into a closet to be kept nice, Bar got to spend the nights with me.
When I was about nine, a friend’s older sister had a baby. She was only eighteen and it was quite a scandal — but we loved to love her baby. We got to use some real baby diapers for our dolls then too, whenever she got new ones. We were so excited — and plastic pants and real baby diaper pins. Diapers were fabric and required pins in those days and plastic pants — and we had to learn to fold them right. We had a blast — pretending to be mothers.
Why do girls play with dolls? Why do they think they want to mother? Is it because mothers puts dolls in their baby girls hands instead of trucks. It seems that girls, per se, gravitate to dolls no matter what.
Later I had a friend who had a minibike. She didn’t like dolls much. I played with her for awhile on it, but quickly lost interest — maybe because I knew I couldn’t have one too. I think I would have played more if I could have had one. I loved, loved, loved my pedal bike. But she went on to be very much involved with sports. I never was. I hated competition. Girls get vicious too and it looked ugly to me. I chose art.
I lost interest in having babies and being a mother too once I realized how exciting the world was and how much I loved art and wanted to make a living so I could do more of it. Kids and husbands looked like too much trouble and interference. People called me selfish. So be it. I didn’t mind much. The worst part of it was that employers always made me work holidays, weekends and evenings because, “She has kids.” I hated that and resented it very much.
Same thing again later with weekends off. “Do you have something special to do? If you do, we’ll schedule you a weekend off. She has a wedding to go to.” “No, I just want a weekend off,” was my response. Sorry Charlie. I said they should be on rotation. They said, “If you have something special, we’ll schedule one for you, but she has an event to attend with her boyfriend”. “No, I just want a weekend off so I can have a weekend off.” It didn’t matter. I had to lie. I didn’t lie, I fought and fought and finally became not a team player. There was no winning for someone who doesn’t play sports or want a weekend off to watch it.
So, once I got tired of playing games, I tried my hand at starting my own business. I didn’t like that much either. It all seemed like wasting precious time doing something I didn’t really want to. And…it required just as many games, just different — Walmart — need any more be said. Ugly competition rears it’s ugly head again. Always competition.
Now I just compete with weeds but not really. I let them have their way and the ants too. It’s hard to get in and out the front gate because cutter ants are in forage mode getting ready for winter fungus making. I just try to not let them have my feet.
A bee followed me around today. I couldn’t help thinking of the meme that asks that instead of being afraid of bees, to consider that they might have mistaken you for a flower. I just said, “shoo bee” — I couldn’t imagine how it could mistake me for a flower. It came back later, or another one did. I said shoo again and waved my hands in the air. That’s as competitive as it gets around here. And as for children, cats will have to do for now except for friends who brings theirs by from time to time. A dog may be in the future.