The Bastard Child.

Lately I've felt like I don't belong. I'm kind of a bastard. I'm not tight with Mormon Jesus, I don't really grasp the ooey gooey family togetherness bullshit. I haven't done anything super neat with my life, like procreate in masses. I'm just me. I'm dysfunctional I suppose, but I guess I find some sick comfort in that. It's all I know. The things I grew up with as "normal" are sort of derailing me in "real life."

There are some scenarios I can't avoid. Weddings in the family, Deaths bringing family together, Family Barbeque's for Birthdays, Etc. Being a girl who comes from a very limited supply of family I dread every said event. I don't do well in these things. I try like hell to avoid these gatherings. I'm the girl awkwardly sputtering off words and perspiring because I'm afraid the word "Bitch" or "Ass hat" or "douche bag" might slip out of my mouth.
If one of these events forces me into a church, I'm constantly on guard listening for the lightning bolt that is going to strike me down in a fiery blaze of glory. I'm pushed to make a decision to either be struck down by the hand of god or continue being the bastard child of the family. I usually opt for the latter, because at least my safety isn't immediately compromised.

I'm goin' through a funk right now. I don't feel like I belong anywhere. I'm most comfortable holed up in a bar on a Sunday afternoon in my tattered jeans, shootin' pool and enjoying mass amounts of beer. I guess a mother mighta helped out in my childhood development, eh?

Maybe it's time to consider relocating. Moving would be tiresome, But so is the constant feeling of being one big fat dissappointment.

Now it's off to the gym for fight night and then home to a lovely bottle of wine for dinner.