Jackpot!

So I started thinking about blogging again a few days ago; writing was my first passion and I've fallen so far off the wagon that I can't even think of a decent enough quip to do it justice, and guess what! I found this one with a username, address, and a few antiquated posts already in place. Score one for me!
It's been so long and so much shit has gone down in the past decade that I don't even know where to begin...
My now: it's day 2 of my 3 days off at Ihop, I'm drinking a French vanilla cappuccino whilst spotify is playing my 'I love 90's hip hop' playlist.
*sidebar: Hypotize just came on and all I wanna do is shake my fat ass right now.
It's so hard to start a new blog... there's all this information that needs to be shared in order for you to know who I am, but it's just too much for one post. I mean, damn...
Name: Suzanne
Age: 48 - soon to be 49, which is one major reason why I wanted to start blogging again. I'm not doing New Year's Resolutions this year, I'm doing 49 to 50 resolutions and this is a way to be held accountable. I wasn't going to start writing until my birthday so I'd have a full 365 days to write myself into some kind of positive thinking/positive results way of life; but hell, I need the extra 44 (?, I think...) days to get into the habit of writing again.
Marital status: widowed as of December 8th, 9th, or 10th of last year. He hanged himself and his body was found on the tenth, but we're pretty sure he did it on the 8th. A full autopsy wasn't performed and now time of death listed. We weren't a happy couple to say the least; he was at another woman's house when he decided death was the answer. I am in a relationship with a great big teddy bear of a man though and I'm hoping this one sticks.
Kids: I have two beautiful adult daughters, a 13-year-old son (technically my nephew, but I've had full custody since he was 5), and an amazing grandson. He's autistic and he has taught me more in his 3 years of life about patience, compassion, and unconditional love than I've learned in my whole half century of life.
Occupation: I'm a waitress at Ihop. I wanted to be so many things- a writer, a nurse, a teacher; but as a single mom I felt like serving was the only way to make money while working short shifts. I wish like hell I'd done it differently, that I'd gone to school to do something where I'd have a retirement & benefits, but I didn't and there's not much I can do about it now. I've been a restaurant manager and I could manage now, but $11 an hour (54 hours a week) compared to anywhere from $15- $25 an hour (30 hours a week) makes it a really hard switch to make. Maybe when my son is older....

Okay, I think this was a good enough starting point for Day 1.

Desperation.

I want so many things; but instead of giving me hope, they just make me realize what a dark and barren future I’m headed for.
I want to write myself out of this disaster because that’s all I have left.
That’s all I can do.
That’s all I know how to do.
Create.
Create a world where the tightly woven knots and the carefully constructed bows aren’t so easily destroyed by just one gentle tug.
I don’t trust anyone and my faith in humanity is frail.
I want a Godly man.
I crave a man of God.
So many cravings I have; an insatiable hunger trying to rip its way through my insides.
It’s the hunger for happiness; the hunger for contentment.
I try to bury it, to smother it; but sometimes it claws its way to the surface.
I don’t want to kill it completely; at least not yet.
But the time for desolation is drawing near.
I can feel it in my bones.
I can feel it in each ragged sigh and in each drawn out breath.
I’m lost in a hell of my own making.
I can’t blame anyone else. I made the choices, I made the mistakes and I always took the dead-end roads.
And now the dark thoughts are feeding on my mind and devouring my soul.
I’m hungry for God.
I’m desperate to give it all to Him, but the weakness of the flesh is my downfall.
I know this, in my mind and in my soul, but I don’t feel able to change it. I don’t have the strength, the fortitude, or the bravery to relinquish all control.
These words come out of me and I don’t know where they form or how they come to life.
There are too many reasons why I shouldn’t give in and so many more of why I should.
I want to know who I am; besides a mother, a daughter, a sister.
There’s got to be more to me than that.
God made me.
He had a plan from day one, a plan for who I was and what I was supposed to be.
This can’t be it.
It just can’t.
I won’t accept that.
But I don’t know where to look or how to change.
God, help me. Show me what to do. Lead me to a path of righteousness.
I make mistakes even when I know it’s wrong.
I try to tell myself that it’s okay; I try to rationalize and make excuses for the stupidity of my ways.
I’ve done that my entire life and I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
“You are my shield, my strength, my portion, my deliverer. My shelter, strong tower, my very present help in time of need.”
I want that.
I need that.
I crave that.
I am desperate for that; that feeling of hope, of security and of safety.
I want to let go of the wheel and lay down in the backseat and see where I end up.
I want to be delivered.
I want to break the chains.
I want to be consumed by the flames of a passion so great that only the light remains.
I want my eyes to be opened.
I want to live, to love, to laugh, to cry, to feel.
I want to rest.
Rest peacefully, cradled in the arms of grace.

Crazy lady! Crazy lady! Lady, you crazy!!

I went to the gas station to get a couple bottles of gatorade.
I get in line behind this thirty-something lady who's counting out change for her Twix bar and grape-flavore Jungle Juice.
Change meaning all change. Quarters, nickels, dimes AND pennies.
I wait...
And wait...
Several more people line up behind me.
We wait...
And wait...
Now don't get me wrong - I've been there. I've had to count change to pay for stuff. And sometimes I haven't had enough change to pay.
But for the love of all that's holy, lady! You've counted it SEVEN times already and counting it once more is NOT going to turn eighty-nine cents into $1.24!
After about five minutes, I'd had enough. (And let me state, I would've offered the owed money earlier, but the woman was kind of hunched over and ashamed looking and I didn't want to embarrass her or anything.)
"Here's a dollar ma'am," I say politely (and very quietly) just as the woman is on the verge of starting yet another re-count.
She flips her head around and glares at me.
"You think I don't got money?" she demands.
*blink*
Taken aback, I just look at her for a second.
"Um, no ma'am, I was just..."
"Cuz I gots money! Now why in HELL would you think I don't got no money, huh? Cuz I ain't white like you?"
Hmmm... I thought she was white. She looked white. I wanted to ask her what color she was, but decided against it.
She continued to rant. "I got me some money. I don't know why you think I ain't got no money!"
Finally, I snapped back: "Because I'd hate to think you're holding all of us up while you just clean out your damn purse!"
Bitch.

Then I get to come home to packing up crap and cleaning up vomit. (Both kids suddenly get struck with a horrendous flu a day and a half before we move.)
'Course I make time to post my run-in with the crazy lady first.
For prosterity's sake, you know...

Damn I hate packing.

May I introduce myself?

I am the word slinger.
A slinger, by definition, is one who participates in the act of throwing, casting, hurling or flinging.
And that's what I do.
Not with my fists. Or rocks. Or knives.
But with words.
I've learned to control my mouth, but put a pen in my hand and it's all over.
I've been a blogger at OpenDiary for many, many years and my readers there can vouch for the fact that sometimes my entries tend to ramble on and on with much ado about nothing.
I try to convince myself that it's just part of my charm.
It's hard to move blogging spots. OD has become a limb on my family tree -I've laughed and cried with some of those people for the better half of a decade- and it wasn't an easy decision to leave. There were just so many problems there. Technical problems. And yes, the overseerers worked their butts off to fix them all in good time, but sometimes you just have to move on for your own peace of mind.
And this seemed as good a time as any.
I'm moving this week-end.
A new house, a new job, a new blog spot.
New is good.
Scary, but good.
I'm a waitress by trade and a writer at heart.
I'm a single mother to two teen-aged daughters.
I'm the grandmother to a bossy, aging feline named Sassy.
I probably have one of the most dysfunctional families in the tri-state area.
I write obsessively about all of them.
I also read obsessively.
Any book you put in my head, I'll read.
I may not like it, but I'll give it a shot.
I'm a Christian.
I cuss when angry, lie when absolutely necessary, watch trashy reality television shows, love R-rated movies, smoke cigarettes, and can't make it through the Old Testament.
But I believe in God.
I believe Jesus died on the cross for our sins.
I believe that He rose from the dead and ascended into Heaven.
I'm a sinner, but I still believe.
I'll probably end up posting more than a few of my OD entries up here, not only so I don't have to spend time typing a whole lot of back stories that have already been typed, but also because I like to have my stuff in the same place.

Did I mention that I'm a procrastinator?
I have to move in two days and I haven't packed anything but a few odds and ends.
I was going to start yesterday, but someone turned me on to a blog called Waiter Rant and I read four years worth of blogs in twelve hours.
He's hilarious and totally worth the chaos that will undoubtably occur when moving day finally arrives.
So I should scram.
Now.