Bic pens lead to going home...

I'm tired and doing my "typing with my eyes closed" exercise again. I'm hoping the kettle will boil and my tea will make itself, or Kita the Amazing Tea Brewing Dog will do it for me....wishful thinking. Having the old eyes closed is interesting, feels more like I'm talking to myself than writing out a another blog post. Of course, I do have to admit that I talk to myself quite a bit and I certainly make no apologies for it considering I'm alone most of the time, who else am i going to talk to??? Maybe that's why I have animals -- then it doesn't feel like a form of mental illnes but rather conversations with my pets.

This blog is taking me forever to write. Between these two paragraphs I had two cups of tea, watched some TV but don't know what I watched because I was completely spaced out thinking about work tomorrow, making a lunch, having to get up so early in the morning, do I really want to go to bed with wet hair....and on and on ad naseum. Lily going into grade one is weighing a lot on my mind. I just can't get over how big she's getting, how old she's getting. She's an amazing little girl, so smart. I can't think about it or I'll have a Mom-Moment and start snivelling.

I was asked a stupid question: Is that a tattoo? First, if you've never seen what I look like, I have a very large tattoo on my left arm, a 3/4 sleeve. It's not coloured yet as it's not done but you can tell what it is. I walked into a Tim Horton's bathroom and the girl washing her hands asked me that. I just made a face and said yes but a friend of mine had a better idea. He said I should have told her it was a birthmark, that I had a rare disease that caused my body to excrete ink in fancy patterns. He told me to tell her that the Bic company came here every six months to drain my arm to make pens.

I'm having a shitty weekend. It's one of those times that I want to go home. I don't mean where I live now but where I grew up. The problem is that I can't. My parents are gone, the house is sold, there is no going home. It makes me sad. I miss them, I miss Norwood Street. In an odd way I miss my old, crackhead town. I can't wait to go back there even if I can't be exactly where I grew up. At the very least, I can go back to where I spent a good chunk of my formative years. Then I would be close to my sisters, neices and nephew, close to my friends -- the family I have left. I wouldn't be spending all of my evenings completely alone once the kids are in bed. I could have people over without either me or them having to drive twenty minutes to a full half hour to see each other. I like where I live but sometimes you have to go where your heart is and that's as close to home as you can get. I think I'm just sick of being lonely.

Being lonely sucks...