I’ve noticed that many of my posts lately have been stories from my childhood.
Nostalgia is comforting. For all who have followed my life for any amount of time knows (thank you), I am a very unhappy me most of the time.
I try not to dwell on anything negative, or allow myself to give in to the despair, so I just go back in my time machine to a happier place. This is the allure of telling stories, which we all do on our blogs to some extent, I think.
Like cotton, it’s the fabric of our lives.
I don’t feel comfortable talking about my current personal life, mostly due to the fact that family and friends read it. Some things are just not solely mine to share, so I am very careful to do no harm here, to anyone in my flesh and blood life. I have other outlets for those issues.
All I really know for sure is that I feel like I am missing out on something. I am confused about what comes next, and what decisions to make to ensure a future that is as pleasant as possible. I am not ready to call it quits and sit in my own pool of tears.
I do not want to accept the fact that that’s all there is.
Which actually brings us to another story, but not from childhood.
When I used to work at quite an upscale nursing home as a dietary aide about ten years ago, I had a mini-boom box by my kitchenette. While I served breakfast, I would put on a few of the random, scratched up CD’s that the activity department had provided. I noticed that the residents really enjoyed the music, so I decided to make a few CD’s myself for them.
Many of the songs were hysterically dated, coming from the 40’s and 50’s, but after hearing them over and over again, one in particular caught my interest. At the time I had no idea exactly what it meant, but with age comes wisdom. (And creaky joints.)