what sandra thinks

January 22:

What is your favorite quote and why? 

I’m not sure I have one. I don’t have, like, words to live by or any other philosophical or inspirational quotes that I’d call favorites. And even if I did, those favorites would likely change based on my mood.

Honestly, though, most of my favorite “quotes” are song lyrics. But I don’t think that’s what I should use here.

Thinking of a quote that means something to me on demand is pretty much impossible. Maybe I should just let you know the next time I come across one?

No? I have to pick something? Okay.

*thinks for many hours before returning to this post*

I came up with a couple that I did actually save when I saw them. (I’m screenshot-happy.) Are they my most favorite quotes ever? I don’t know. Probably not. But I agree with them. And I had to give you something.

The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special, too.
–Ernest Hemingway

and

I used to think that the worst thing in life was to end up all alone.
It’s not.
The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.
–Robin Williams

I bet now you’re feeling as cheerful as I am. Which is not at all. Sorry.

—

   
I’m thinking anything that comes out of their mouths would become my favorite quote. 

p.s. — This one sucks. But tomorrow’s might be worse.

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 21:

If you could, what year would you time travel to and why? 

Time travel has come up quite a few times lately.

To recap: I chose time travel as my (stupid) superpower. I’ve also written a letter to my younger self and posted it more than once.

However, this question is different to me. I’m interpreting this question as: What time period would you like to live in? 

I’m not going to say I want to go back to the year I was thirteen to fix all the fuck-ups I’ve had since then. I think I’ve covered that. Extensively. I’m going to use this question to talk about the year I’d like to visit—and stay. No connection to my past self or my future self. Just the year I’d love to be living in right now.

This is me thinking. Although that’s not actually a picture of me.

I have zero interest in the future. I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to be there. Nope.

I don’t even want to be in the present. I hate how things are today. Social media. Reality TV. Constant competition to see who’s best based on money and possessions. Too much pressure. And… So. Much. Technology.

People are overstimulated and stressed the fuck out. Many (so many) are intolerant, rude, selfish, and just generally not nice. Kindness is rarer than it should be. Human interaction has steeply declined (and not because of the pandemic). People talk less (literally talk, not text), and people see each other less (literally see each other, not facetime, etc.). Kids don’t play outside. School shootings happen. A single donut at Dunkin costs $1.39 (and they’re smaller than they used to be, too). (I am a donut connoisseur.)

Get me the fuck out of here!

Crank up the DeLorean, Doc!

I’m going to 1975.

I don’t even care what’s going on in the world. In 1975, life is so… not 2022. It’s quiet. Relaxing. Mellow. I have no computer, no internet, and no cell phone. But I can call my friends on the rotary phone and make plans to get together. Like, in person. I can invite them over to watch tv. I’ve got five stations—ABC, NBC, CBS, PBS, and the local one—and that’s plenty. Oh—and they all sign-off at midnight.

It’s a time of mood rings, Happy Days, trips to HoJos for hot fudge sundaes, kids riding their bikes everywhere (and kids doing all sorts of other fun things outside), BeeGees 8-tracks, 44¢ per gallon gas, and a Dunkin Donut for about 25¢.

Look how happy these random people are. [Aside: If you are these random people and want me to take your picture down, let me know!] Those party hats. The pickled eggs (okay, no). That amazing wallpaper.

I’d totally eat a pickled egg if it meant I could go to 1975. It was a simpler life. And that’s what I need. And love.

[Yes, I did quite a bit of research. It was fun. I think I actually like this question!]

—

   
They would even look hot wearing leisure suits.

p.s. — I struggled a bit because the 50s and 60s appealed to me, too. But I went with the 70s because they had the best wallpaper.

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 20:

What is your favorite photo you’ve ever taken? 

If I had to choose one out of the thousands of photos I’ve taken, I think it would be this particular one of my kids when they were little. Like, 2 and 4 years old. I won’t share that, though, because I won’t post pictures of my kids (or of myself—I’m so mysterious).

Instead, I chose something kind of ordinary, if not overused—a sunset. But it’s from a happier time in my life so it means something to me as well as being beautiful.

It feels peaceful and peaceful is good for me. I need more peace in my life.

—

   
I’d like to step into that sunset picture with these guys. Hell, Mr. Left is already on the beach. The sun just hasn’t gone down yet. Wait for me, gorgeous—I’m on my way!

p.s. — Totally unrelated. Once upon a time, you could add a poll to your post. That option seems to be gone. Or am I missing something? 

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 19:

Write about something mysterious. 

Initial reaction to this prompt:
I am not a religious woman, but God help me. Mysterious. I’m not in a fucking spy novel (although that would be cool). Where do they get these prompts?

Moving on…

I actually do have something mysterious to write about.

Me.

You know I’m Sandra. And you know I live in the US. I’ve even identified the region, if you were paying attention. I may have even mentioned the state. But you don’t know my last name or my specific location.

You know I’m married to a guy I wish would take a hike most of the time, but you don’t know his real name although I have referred to him as John in the past (which is, you guessed it, not his real name).

You know I have two kids—daughter age 14, son age 17 (as of today!), but you don’t know their names.

And I’m sure there’s lots more you don’t know about me no matter how much of an open book I am about most things.

But all of that is mysterious to you, not me. So what’s mysterious to me?

Still me.

I don’t understand why I am the way I am. How can I know all the right things to do—all the things that could/would make my life better and make me feel better—but rarely do any of them? Why am I sad all the time? Why am I hopeless? Why do I hate myself so fucking much?

Why am I like this??

This is not me. I have never been committed. So far.

It’s a mystery to me.

Oh, sure, I could tie some of the whys to things that happened in my past. But that’s not the mysterious part. The mysterious part is why I ended up this way because of those things.

I have never felt like I am good enough. Or even just enough. It could be because I have three sisters: the oldest, the youngest, the favorite, and me. I am nothing. Until I made myself something—the fuck-up.

I followed two different paths at once. I tried to be just like the favorite (my sister, as well as other people in my life I thought were favorites), and I tried to be special for entirely different things. I was trying to be someone else or please someone else. I made decisions based on what others did, what I thought other people wanted me to do, or what I thought I was supposed to do. I don’t know that I’ve ever made an important life decision that was all me and only me. I never allowed myself to figure out what I truly wanted because I didn’t think it mattered.

[Aside: Except true love. I always wanted that. But I thought I wasn’t supposed to think that was real, so when I thought it was time for me to get married, I did. Despite the lack of true love.]

Why was I convinced I had to please everyone but me? When and how did I reach the conclusion that everyone else mattered more than I did? Why do I have so much self-loathing that I am confused when other people like me?

My daughter, with all the wisdom of her fourteen years, may have given me the answer to some of my questions. Like why, when I know what I could do to feel better, do I not do those things? Why don’t I do what I want? Why don’t I value and love myself?

I don’t think I deserve it.

She right. I don’t.

But again… Why? What made me feel that way?

Why am I like this?

—

   
They are both mysterious to me. But I do know their names are Mike and Gonçalo.

p.s. — I know that I have depression and anxiety. (At least I think I know. It’s not like there’s a blood test or anything to confirm.) I suppose I could “blame” my depression and anxiety for everything I questioned in this post. But still—I’ll say it again—why? Why do I suffer from those things? I’m the first in the line. I have no family history of either. Is this what’s special about me? I don’t want it. 

p.p.s. — Perhaps the greatest mystery is this challenge. And why the hell I’m doing it. (Although I do like that it has made me post almost daily.)

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 18:

What book is next on your reading list? 

I have 524 books on my goodreads want to read list so I guess I have a few to choose from. And while they are in no particular order whatsoever, I think I know what’s next because I just moved it from want to read to currently reading. But I haven’t actually started the reading part yet.

However, whenever the topic of books/reading comes up, I wonder if people will think less of me. I’ve decided that I don’t care, but I don’t like the way some people look down on those of us who like romance.

Anyway.

I mostly read steamy, sexy romance. And the covers look like my two guys that appear at the end of every one of my posts. In fact, Mr. Right (as opposed to Mr. Left who is also Mr. Right but that’s too confusing) is a book cover. I lost my mind when I saw him.

Anyway, yeah, the covers have shirtless guys. Or partially shirtless guys. Or guys in suits which my daughter says are just as bad as shirtless guys which I do not understand. She also doesn’t find the covers I drool over to be sexy as hell. I am seriously concerned that she was switched at birth. (Kidding—she looks just like me.)

I don’t think *all* of the guys look like Greek gods. Wait—I take that back. They all do. But I don’t lose my mind over all of them because I need to also love the face, not just the body. See? I’m a class act. I don’t just go for guys with abs. They have to have something more. And that something more is facial hair.

Seriously, though.

They need to have facial hair.

Seriously, though, really. Here’s the book I’m reading next. It was released about a week ago, so I guess it’s cutting the 524-book line right to first position.

The Summer Proposal by Vi Keeland

Laugh all you want. I won’t listen. I’l be lost in my lusty dreams.

Full disclosure: This is not one of my favorite covers. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I’m not drawn to him. I think he has a boy-next-door face, and that never seems to work for me. But look! He’s wearing a shirt! (Oh my god—so is the other guy up there on one of my favorite covers. See? I’m perfectly normal.)

—

   
My laptop is filled with gorgeous men like these. If only my lap was filled with gorgeous men like these. (Sorry.) (I admit it—I have a problem.)

p.s. — I’m just barely coming out of the reading rut I fell into a while back. At least I hope I’m coming out of it. I did read one book already this year. It was set at Christmas so I was a little late. And this one is summer so I’m a little early. Hopefully I’ll finish reading it by summer. Stupid reading rut. I used to read these books in a day or two. I was reading, like, three books a week. What happened to me??

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 17:

What is a superpower you’d love to have? 

I’d like the ability to have a dollar for every time I’ve heard this dumbass, incredibly overused question. Seriously, why have I been asked this question approximately 2,235,876 times in my life? I don’t get the fascination with this question.

Ahem. Sorry.

You know what? If I can have a superpower, I’ll take it. Give it. Whatever it is. I don’t even care. I’ll take whatever I can get.

However, I’ll tell you what I really really want (if this even counts as a superpower).

The ability to time-travel.

There. I said it. I picked a stupid-ass superpower. Happy now? And do you know why I chose this? I’ll bet you do!

Yes. To go back in time and teach my younger self everything I now know that I wish I’d known then. No one has to know I’m there. It can be our secret. Me and… me. I can live in my younger self’s attic or something. And we can spend a couple of hours each night talking about making better decisions than I’d make with out my future self’s help.

I can debunk that “fairy tales aren’t real” crap.

I can stop my younger self from making choices I’ll later regret.

I can teach myself how to value myself and love myself and put myself first (not all the time, but not never either) because I believe it will be much easier to change my mindset as the younger version of me—before I become totally jaded and cynical.

I can steer myself away from those who I now know are bad for me.

And I can enjoy spending time with myself in a more peaceful environment (because I don’t find our current time period peaceful at all).

Maybe if I show my younger self that I’m a good person who is funny and smart and cool all on my own, I won’t end up spending years trying to find my worth in others. Or simply hating myself.

I know there’s no guarantee that I could help myself. God knows I’m struggling to help myself now. But if I had another person right now, even another me (god help us all), maybe it would be better. Because I feel completely alone now.

I don’t even have me.

—

   
Should I have said I want invisibility so I can gaze freely upon the sexy men of my choosing? Nah. Too predictable.

p.s. — No capes!

©2022 what sandra thinks

January 16:

What is a cause you’re passionate about and why? 

I suppose it’s terrible that I don’t have an answer for this. I can think of a few causes that I should be passionate about, as they have touched my life. Things relating to mental health (me and other family), heart disease (my dad), brain cancer (my cousin), and suicide (a different cousin). I could probably think of others, too.

But I don’t have any money to donate, and I’m obviously not a people person, so having any active role in supporting these causes is out of the question.

I guess my answer is no, even though this is not a yes-or-no question.

Right now, the only cause I’m working on is myself. (But I wouldn’t say I’m “passionate” about it. I haven’t even gotten to the point where I think I’m worth it yet.) I feel selfish, but I shouldn’t feel that way, right? It’s important for me to be healthy and (god help me) happy. That’s a huge undertaking when you’re me.

I worry because I feel like I’m going downhill. I’ve been trying a few small things over the last few weeks (because I need to take small steps or I’ll really overwhelm myself). But I’m discouraged. I know it takes time. I know I can’t undo many many years of sadness, despair, negativity, and self-loathing overnight. Nothing pulls me up, though. Nothing ever changes.

I guess I haven’t found what works for me yet. I mean, it’s different for everyone, to some extent. What helps someone else feel better won’t necessarily work for me. If it were that simple, no one would be depressed. One person would find the solution, and we’d all follow that.

But I need a win. Something to keep me going. I haven’t had a win in a long time. I can’t even remember what that feels like.

I hope I’m not a lost cause.

—

   
Here’s a cause I support (but I don’t think it counts): Men. (And I feel passionate about it!)
Should I keep Mr. Perfect and Mr. Also Perfect, or should I start rotating in other Mr. Perfects? I worry that I’m neglecting others in my collection of hot guys. But would that be a betrayal? I wouldn’t be keeping my promise to have Mr. Sexy Beach Guy at the end of every post forever and ever. I always have the tough decisions. 

p.s. — I hate this prompt. It makes me feel like a bad person.

©2022 what sandra thinks