*A couple of f-bombs ahead, but to be fair, they are necessary and beautifully placed*

I fucking love this chapter of my life! It has only been within the last five years that I have figured out who I am, and I am almost fifty-four years old. Fifty-four! The majority I lived for someone else whether it was for my parents, my religion, or for my ex-husband, and people-pleasing was part of that game. Sometimes I played pretend, doing what I believed was expected of me or worse yet, shrinking myself to fit inside someone else's box. 

I lost myself. Big time. But a divorce after marriage for twenty-six years tossed my world upside down, and FORCED me to land on my feet, learn things about myself I hadn't truly dared to look at, and dare I say, become stronger and more badass than I have EVER felt in whole goddamn life. 

Also, realizing I was gay and most likely a pantheist instead of a Book of Mormon reading, temple-going, married to a selfish black and white thinking "priesthood-holding" patriarchal man, sure made a HUGE difference, too. Go figure. 

A couple of months ago, my grown daughter asked me if I could pick any time in my life to live, which time would I pick? I had answered now -- I'd pick now. My glow-up has been so amazing that why in the world would I want to go back? I have found strength. I have found confidence. I have found my style. And most importantly, I have found the love of my life...love like I never knew existed before or thought I'd ever EVER experience. I'm truly happy. Authentically me. 

​Yes, this chapter is fucking amazing! 

​Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “chapter” and brought to you
​by Linda G. Hill

MOOD
I’m not in the mood to write prose today. For six years, I didn’t feel the mood to write either. So mood or not, I write. 
​(26 Words)

Weekend Writing Prompt bought to you by Sammi Cox and you can join in HERE

I have received many, many books over the course of my lifetime, but what I truly remember most was the time when my favorite grandfather, Lewis James Anderson, left me his "membership" to a used book store in Roy. This was in the late 1980's, and I use the term membership loosely. What it amounted to was bringing your used paperback books - all genres - and getting the credit for what the book was truly worth (price on the cover). The more books you donated, the more credits you received. He had a large account due to the amount of books he had already given the store! The store kept your name on file (an index card), with a running total and added and subtracted the amounts with a pencil and their initials. Once your name was on a card, the entire store of books was yours!

I could pick any book, have the cover price subtracted from my credits, and then pay a whopping .35 cents at the time, if my memory serves, to buy the book and take it home. 

I loved it! I would ride my bike to that store that was tucked in between a Woolworths and a fabric store. I perused the books from front to back, and spend many hours there, thumbing through pages and staring at covers until a book caught my eye. I went through a phase of reading all the horror books -- so scary, but couldn't get enough!  Then moved onto adventure and thriller. But when I found the Harlequin Romance section...boy, oh, boy, oh, boy...I stayed in that section for a very long time. 

I wasn't gifted A book, but a world of books from a great man, who I couldn't have loved more. 

Today's Ragtag Daily Prompt bought to us by Martha Kennedy

I'm not a very jovial person. Not really. Happy, to a point? Sure. But I'm no Santa Claus, a man with a belly full of jelly, who most all adore. THAT is, in my mind jovial. Jovial is a term saved for a special sort of person, which are few and far between.

Me? I'm more of medium, luke-warm, happy kind of gal. I have my moments. Don't get me wrong. I'm not a bitter, jaundiced, spiteful person...well, most of the time anyway...

*insert wink*

No one is coming to my funeral/life celebration and saying, "Boy, that Angela sure was jovial!" Do not believe it if they do. I try to keep myself under the radar, because have you heard what people say when people are kidnapped and murdered? 

"Oh, she had a smile that lit up a room!" 
"She was loved by everyone!" 
"So nice to everyone and willing to lend a helping hand!" 

Yeah, no. Let's not do that. I want to stay alive. So, I'm cool not being jovial and I'm okay not embracing bitterness either. A happy medium is right where I belong. 

​Don't believe me, check out the fun video below. 

Three Things Challenge brought to you by pensitivity101

Leave a comment. Let me know you've stopped by. Even if you just say hi, you non-jovial person you!

Life stood beside me on the frozen steps and gently placed a hand on my arm. “Fifty-four and a half,” she said. “This is your next door. Enter carefully because it is not the same as thirty-seven and a half was. It comes with more wrinkles, gray hair, and a large dose of menopause.”

“Why in the world would I want to enter then?” I ask.

“Because it comes with the perks of wisdom and clarity, too.”

I sigh and point at the other door. “And the seventy-one and a half?”
​
Life smiles, “I’ll see you again in seventeen years.”

(100 words)

*Remember when you were little and how proud you were to say, "I'm six and a half!" That half a year was a huge deal! So, Life does not forget*
​
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields hosted Friday Fictioneers.

Oh, I live for a good comment! I do! Say hi and let me know you stopped by! 

When I saw this prompt, the first thing that popped into my head was the song, "Funky Cold Medina." And here's the thing, I know NOTHING about this song other than that one single line. Seriously. Nothing. Yet, I know this song exists. I know exactly how that one line is sung. But who sings it? Ain't got a clue. The rest of the song lyrics? Nope. What the heck is a "Funky Cold Medina?" Your guess is as good as mine. 

So, I decided to do a little digging and figure it out. What is a "Funky Cold Medina" and why did I sing it without knowing anything about it? (Because apparently, that's what we tend to do...not listen to full lyrics, but dance to the beat, and hit that one famous line when the timing is right). 

Off to research...

*Insert lots of laughter here as research as been completed. OMG* 

Tonight, I stared up at the dark sky, wrapped in my coat, staring at the stars that seemed far more bright than I'd noticed before. So many stars, in the same patterns they've always been. How can we be alone here in this vastness, I'm left to wonder? And if we aren't alone, why haven't the other beings been inclined to reach out, to connect? 

I have to chuckle, because for me, if I were an alien, I know exactly why I wouldn't bother. We earthlings are fucking terrible - not all, but far too damn many. What exactly do we have to offer since we can be so brutally horrific to one another on our own planet, have shown so by our own history, and continue to do so this present day? I'd stay as far away as possible for fear of being pillaged, prisoned, enslaved, vilified, and/or victimized, too . 

This prompt provided by John Holton Come join! 

And as always, leave a comment and let me know you stopped by. Say hi! Let me know what your favorite constellation is or if you believe in aliens or not? Are we or are we not here alone? 

​It started with a doubt
and then another. 
But when the doubts turned to facts, 
I could no longer deny it. 
What I once believed was truth - real truth 
was fabricated for gold and fame, 
it became complete falsehood, 
and I could no longer unsee it. 
Facts and facts and facts piled up
as I dove head first into the rabbit hole.
I didn't expect the darkness to be so kind, 
but the further I fell,
searching for new meaning, new purpose
MY identity and MY truth,
the brighter and brighter the rabbit hole became. 
I found ME and I what I believe. 
Yes, I didn't expect the darkness to be so kind,
but I am so glad I dove in anyway. 

 Missy’s MAD Challenge. The prompt this week is “I didn’t expect the darkness to be kind." Go join in the fun! 

Leave a comment... even if to just say hi! 

"Scratch an Itch"... today's writing prompt. When I hear those two words all I can do is sigh and then chuckle in resolution.

I know this is cute saying, but in this situation I'm taking it literally, and I sigh and chuckle again. 

I have actually written blog posts YEARS ago about my experiences with scratching and itching all due to my pregnancy with my daughter twenty-two and a half years ago. Yes, twenty-two years ago. 

I had six weeks left in my pregnancy when I broke out in a rash that covered my entire body except for my face, the palms of my hands, and the bottoms of my feet. It was HORRIFIC! Nothing stopped the itch. Nothing made it go away for more than a few minutes at a time. Hundreds upon hundreds of dollars were spent in trying to find a cure (steroids, oatmeal baths, creams, flaxseed oils). You name it, I tried it. Imagine being covered in hundreds of hives, THEN rolling in poison ivy, and THEN being bitten by a horde of mosquitos - even THAT doesn't even come close to what it felt like!

In my opinion, there are TWO kinds of cinnamon:
the good kind (cinnamon bear cinnamon, yum) and then the bad kind (the cinnamon found in baking and cold cereals, and splashed all over Christmas everything, yuck). 

I've never truly enjoyed cinnamon rolls or cinnamon bread, and I have especially NEVER enjoyed any kind of cinnamon cereal.  Not my favorite at all. Now, does that mean I won't eat baked goods with cinnamon in them? No, I will, sometimes. But they are not my go-to treat of choice. Cinnamon donut or plain? Plain, please. Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Grape Nut cereal? Hand over the Grape Nut. 

It has been this way for as long as I can remember, back to when I was a kid. But Angela, how can you not like a good ol' freshly baked cinnamon roll? I don't know. I just don't...not really. I'd totally scarf down an orange roll or two anytime though! Per delish!