Part 286: Last month of being 34, early 21st cent., North American, female, Caucasian.

God, I’m glad I don’t have to work today. It’s that time of the month, and my husband is being a bathroom hog. He’s only trying to get ready for work, which I’m Not. I know he’s irritated that I had to chase him out all morning, but I’m not feeling well. You know it’s some serious cramps when your body is contracting so badly it squeezes on your lower intestine. I try to hold it until he’s finished, but it makes the cramps so much worse. I wish we could afford a house with two bathrooms.

For that to happen I need to get a job.

I supposed to anyway. I’ve been putting it off because I need to redo my work history. It’s such a pitiful thing, my resume. It’s startling to write down your life’s facts and to see in black and white how pitiful they are. I cringle thinking of handing it over for someone else to see. Would it seem as pitiful and empty to them as it does to me? And yet, I don’t feel that way about my life at all! I’m looking over my resume and seeing that one part of my life is ending and I’m going to have to start a new chapter. I’m having a hard time being positive about it.

So instead of doing all that, I’m in my backyard, trying to ease these cramps. It’s beautiful out here, just perfect. Of course, I can look around and see that the yard needs all kinds of attention, that the floor needs to be swept, the hanging plants taken care of, things need to be picked up. Believe me, that’s not going to happen today. Even if (when! Be positive!) the "discomfort" subsides, I’ve got lot of things on my list to do.

Next month, to the day, I turn 35. Last week, I was cleaning out my desk, with all of its papers, keepsakes, letters, this n’ that. Alan was looking through a pile of things I had shoved in my desk over the years. One was a giant button that someone from work gave me when I turned 30. I had to work on my birthday, but my co workers threw me a little "over the hill’ party ( amusingly, they were all order than I!). It’s black and reads: "30 ROCKS!!" So corny. For some reason, I kept it. Alan picks it up and says: "Hey, you have a birthday coming up. You should wear this- you could get away with it!" Or something sweet like that. I think I will wear it!
I had lots of plans for myself when I turned 30. I had thought my life would have followed the American Dream Format it was supposed to. Either that, or I was going to live a totally bohemian adventurous life on foreign soil somewhere. Heh, neither of which has happened. In fact, nothing really did happen, although THANK GOD Alan married me. But... where did those 5 years go? Didn’t I do any growing at all? I mean besides my considerable bulk. What the hell? And what will the next five years bring? Will it go as fast?

Found some old albums last night. Right now Eric Burdon and the Animals are singing about "Good Times". It’s strangely appropriate to this entry, I think:

"My useless talking
I could have been walking
Instead of complaining
I could have been gaining
Useless talking
All of my walking
All of my sinning
I could have been winning
When I think of all the good times
that's been wasted having good times...
When I think of all the good times that's been wasted..."