Finding Myself

*Author's Note II: Brace yourselves. What I am reading right now (or at any time, really) is a list of books that show how truly geeky I am. I can't get enough of history in any form and read many books that bore the shitakii out of those around me. Right now I am reading Boswell's Life of Samuel Johnson (considered the best biography in the history of forever); a biography of Boswell himself (considered a buffoon whose ability to write such a masterpiece is still a subject of amazement); a bunch of books on castles, palaces and other "stately" homes (I just pick through these kinds of books, I don't usually read them cover to cover); a study of prehistoric sites in Europe; and the last major subject to hold my short attention span right now is the bog bodies and what they reveal about life in the times of their ugly demise. Princess hates the bog bodies: they creep her out and if I mention anything related to them after dark I will need the jaws of life to get her out of my bed. I have a few other odds and ends that I am picking through, but those are the books I am reading right now.


*Author's Note: Not sure if I mentioned this on here or not. I can't remember and am too lazy to check and see. Being a blogger of many words makes digging through old posts a chore I don't want to take on sometimes. So if I am repeating myself, which I do a lot, please bear with me (not to be confused with "bare," we don't need a bunch of naked bloggers driving the boys/girls wild).

One of my goals in leaving my husband -- amongst other reasons -- was to try and find myself again. Somewhere along the line I forgot myself and became a mess of MS (EEEEK!). My ex ass master of a husband understood this because he said that he missed the old me, when we were first together, before MS came to town, stole my life and I only got a lousy closet full of MS-related T shirts. My little sister echoed this sentiment and when 2 people in my life agree on something I am forced to consider that there may be some truth to what they are saying. If only one person says it, I don't worry about it too much. But 2 people will actually make me listen. Like when I was shopping with my older sister this summer and saw a summer dress that I was thinking of buying. My little sister already told me that I would never wear it and it would only hang in my closet with tags on it because I would be too self conscious if I wore it oot and aboot. My older sister, when I showed her the dress, said the same thing, so I put it back on the rack, cursed my lack of feminine wiles and stayed with ratty cut-off jean shorts and shirts that are more holes than shirt -- the uniform that I am most comfortable with. I have to admit that they are right. I probably would never wear a dress because I would be uncomfortable wearing one and would feel conspicuous out in pubic if wearing one. But that doesn't mean it wouldn't look great hanging in my closet until I donated it to the Salvation Army with tags still on it -- an occurrence that happens all too often in my life. The Salvation Army loves me. They know they are getting things never worn or used and that I wash (if it was used), organize and label all the things I am giving them, which makes the job of sorting easier. ( *Sigh* Why am I so anal and organized? Why can't I just toss it all in a bag, willy nilly, like my little sister does? Alas, it is just not in me to not organize and put related items in separate bags with the proper labels on the bags.)

Last night, while lying in bed reading, I realized that I was doing something that I hadn't done in a long time. Something the "old me" used to do all the time. When I was still single I used to keep books on the side of the bed that I didn't use. I tend to sleep only on one side and maybe sometimes towards the middle, but never on the opposite side, so I used the unused side to keep the books that I like to read at night there. I hadn't done this in a long time, not having a bed all to myself and an extreme slowing of my usual reading while in the throes of trying to come to any kind of terms with this disease (guess that would be a loss of usual interests). So when I grabbed 3 books to take to bed with me (not as impressive as it sounds. I read historical non fiction and like to be able to compare the statements of one book with the opinions of another, so I cross reference my books.), stacked them up on the other side of the bed, and slept with them there, I had a major realization that I was finally starting to get back to myself. First, I was reading like I used to, before I lost interest in everything. B, I was stacking them up in my bed like I did in the old days. And quatro, I was sleeping with books in my bed again. Oddly, I like sleeping with books in my bed. I like going to bed to read and digging through my pile on the other side to see what I want to read that night. And when I realized I was doing that again, when I hadn't done anything like that in a lllllloooooonnnnngggggg time, I felt I was making a step towards finding myself again and, to be honest with you, it felt really good. It may not sound like a big deal to anyone else, but it is huge for me. Books are the biggest joy of my life and the only thing I want to share a bed with; so to get back to my old passion for the printed word feels great, feels closer to where I want to be. Baby steps, people, baby steps...