“Where Does the Time Go When It’s Not Around Here?”

November 1, 2016 thru May 2, 2017 (!!!)

The title of this post is a line from a Barenaked Ladies song called “Great Provider.”  It’s one of their early songs, and the line is one of my favorites to cite.  The concept of time flying has been an ever-present aspect for most of my life, but it applies even more so in this contemplative state in which I live now that I’m past 50 years of age.

My last blog post was October 31 of last year.  WTH?  My first thought was, “Where did the last 6 months go?!?!?”

Let’s see where it went…

I worked.  I went to Colorado for Thanksgiving.  I crocheted a whole boatload of stuff.  I had dinner with friends.  I binge watched a lot of Netflix and Amazon Prime.  I organized and de-cluttered.  I bought more yarn.  I continued the love-hate relationship with my cat.  I missed Bella every single day.  I missed the redneck nearly every single day.  I ate crappy food.  I played Wizard of Oz Magic Match on my phone.  I went to a conference out of town for a weekend.  I collected more patterns from Ravelry than I’ll live long enough to utilize.  I added more books to my Amazon wish list than I’ll live long enough to read.  I may have washed my car twice.  I may have used my vacuum in the house 2 or 3 times more than I’ve washed my car.  I got my nails done once.  I don’t think I’ve had a haircut (other than what I’ve hacked off the ends myself).  I had my teeth cleaned.  I had cataract surgery on both eyes.  I added to my debt thanks to the cataract surgery.  I swapped yarn and other goodies with friends on Ravelry.  I’ve read a couple of books and skimmed through a few magazines.  I bought a DVD set of some exercise plan.  I left the DVD set of some exercise plan in the unopened box.  I’ve planned a trip to see the eclipse in August with my family.  I’ve texted with my niece about all things great and small.  I had a nice text conversation with my nephew about politics.  I’ve nearly had a stroke thanks to the election results and the things our President has said and done since.  I’ve prayed.  A lot.  I’ve cried.  A lot.

And that, my friends, is where 6 months went.

Is that what everyone’s 6 months looks like?  If so, then I know why so many of us feel depressed and sad and lonely and afraid.

What I’d like my 6 months to look like is a lot different.

I’d still work.  I’d still crochet.  I’d still binge watch.  I’d still read.  I’d still have dinner with friends.  I’d still visit my family.  I’d still hang out on Ravelry.  I’d still miss Bella.

But the main thing I’d like to do differently is travel more.  I’d have a house instead of an apartment.  I’d have a dog (maybe in addition to, rather than instead of, my cat).  I wouldn’t care that I haven’t seen or heard from the redneck in just over 3 years.  And I wouldn’t care who he’s spending his time with.  I’d eat better.  I’d walk and exercise more.  I’d be debt-free (except for the mortgage on that house I’d be living in).

Those are my dreams for every day, which add up to the weeks, and the months, and eventually the years.  It doesn’t seem that much to ask for, to hope for, to pray for.

When I turned 50, I wasn’t entirely confident that my life was going to be perfect, but I had hope and looked forward to the days ahead.  I was part of a community.  I had a man I loved and respected and felt safe with, both physically and emotionally.  My dog was happy and healthy.  I was almost debt-free.  My job was running along smoothly.

Fast forward 3 years.  The man and his community that had accepted me is gone.  My dog is gone.  My debt is definitely not gone but has grown.  I still have a job but it’s done a 180 as far as daily routine and a feeling of security.   I did get an associate’s degree from college and I do have 2 better-functioning eyes.  But I have the debt to show for both, and I haven’t continued my education because I simply can’t take on more debt.

I’m scared what this post will look like 6 months from now.

What I do know is this: I’ll have celebrated another birthday.  I’ll have seen my nephew graduate from high school.  I’ll have seen a total eclipse of the sun.  I’ll be preparing to spend another Thanksgiving with my family.  I’ll have crocheted more stuff to enter in the State Fair.  And yet I’ll probably have more yarn than I have now.  I’ll have read a few more books and watched a few more shows on Netflix and Amazon Prime.  I’ll have eaten more dinners with friends.  I’ll still miss Bella.  I’ll probably still miss the redneck.  I’ll still be in debt.  I’ll have signed another year’s lease on this apartment.

What I don’t know is this:




And that’s what scares me.


If I’m the pilot for my time, I’m doing a really good job of nosediving it right into the ground.

I am the only one who can soar smoothly through the clouds.  I know I can work on the grief about Bella.  I know I can quit thinking about the redneck.  I know I can eat better and walk more.  I could even get a second job (ugh) to help me pay off the debt in 30 years rather than 40.

But I’m going to need a bigger, better, faster plane to get the rest of my baggage off the ground.



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