1994 was the best year of my life… until this year. It’s a toss up.
1994 I was 16 and didn’t have a care in the world - I wasn’t in love with anyone, I had no obligations besides school, and even that wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t a popular girl or anything, but everyone was mature enough to stop picking on me by then, I had a few good friends who I would spend my days with. I would come home only to sleep, then wake up, throw on whatever was clean and walk out the door. I wasn’t a bad kid, didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink, smoked cigarettes a little bit, though. We’d spend our days doing absolutely nothing, and yet, looking back, I got more exercise doing nothing than I do now doing everything.
This year has been good to me… though I’d like to work to keep busy, but I can’t as I’m still awaiting a SSN, I can’t complain. Being happily married is wonderful, and being a housewife isn’t bad at all. I do my chores, go for walks to the Locks or to Shilshole, or check out all the shops on Market Street, or walk to my father-in-law’s, since he’s nearby. When I don’t go out for whatever reason (the rain doesn’t deter me, I love the rain!), then I stay inside and paint or use my oil pastels. Life is leisurely, calm, and happy. My two cats are my only “babies” right now, absolutely stressless companions.
Years ending in “4” are great. Years ending in “2” are bad. Bad. (in 92 I was beat up daily, picked on, “friends” backstabbed me - very bad year for me… and 2002 was the year my fiance left me for another woman, dragging me through some very stressful mud before and after the messy, messy breakup…) I’m not normally very superstitious, but frankly, I’m not looking forward to 2012. 2014, on the other hand… 