Something is wrong with me. I’m serious. I have tried, unsuccessfully, to start a blog about a trillion times. I like to write. I love to write, actually. To be honest, with what I grew up with, I am surprised I can write. But for some reason, I have all of these fears when it comes to blogging. As if someone could figure out who I am and report me. Report me for telling the truth about my own life? See how screwed up that is? (However, some of my best work is contained in several diaries from the year I lost my virginity…my mom accidentally donated them to Jewish Women’s Thrift Store a few years back…I hope to find them published and unabridged someday.) The truth is I have paid someone $200/week to hear the truth for years. I bet I would have no credit card debt if I could of just blogged instead of went to the shrink. But I really liked my shrink…I even invited her to my upcoming wedding. So, there, that is your first clue, if you are trying to figure out who I am…I am soon to get married and I invited my shrink. I’m slightly neurotic, a bit co-dependent, a former bulimic/anorexic, a child of 2 alcoholics, one of whom is borderline personality and the other bi-polar. But I’m not into labels, just the support groups. Sit, have a cup of tea with me…
- I Really Don’t Want to be a Whiny B*$ch, But…
- Infertility Makes Others Stupid and Mean
- I’m Doing the Best WIth What I’ve Got
- Please Don’t Judge Me That I’m Not So Positive Right Now!
- I’m too tired to pretend like I’m not affected by this, so instead I’m faking a sick dog. Is that bad?
- It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Goes To Rehab.
- My name is Rachel…and…
- Working On It
- Home, Sweet Home
- Someone Get This Girl a Drink. Or Something Stronger.