what sandra thinks

I was going to write about my ongoing back pain, but I decided that I didn’t really want to. I mean, I’m always ‘just thinking‘ about it because it always hurts. But fuck that.

I got a new phone about a week and a half ago. Not because I felt like it, but because I had no choice. My battery started dying way too fast. And instead of the low battery warning, it would just turn off. Super convenient!

I kind of hated my old phone, though, so this turned out to be a good thing. I mean, besides the money. My last phone was big. I never liked that. The new one is a little smaller. It’s amazing what a difference a few millimeters can make. (No, I said this post is p for phone, not p for penis. Put your millimeters away. I don’t know why this made me laugh. At least I’m entertaining someone, even if it’s only me.)

At the risk of this becoming a controversial post (which would be ridiculous, let’s face it), I’ll just say it. I have an android phone. I always have and probably always will.

I don’t like iphones because of all the things you can’t do with one. And they are insanely expensive [unless you buy a really old one, I guess?]. Maybe people justify the cost or live with it by paying in monthly installments? Or they’re just rich. Don’t know. But I don’t need another monthly bill. Of course, there are plenty of pricey android phones, too. I wanted a Pixel for its amazing camera, but I was not paying, like, $800 for a phone. My phone is important to me, but so is eating.

I’m happy with my $200 moto g6. It’s awesome. And it’s all glass and shiny and pretty. It’s beautiful in every way. Haha… but, you know, it’s just a phone, people!

Stock photo. Not my phone. How do I take a picture of my phone with my phone?

p.s.— My kids get teased for having androids and not iphones. WTF? So many of their friends got new iphone x’s when they came out. I’m sorry, but I disagree with parents who spend $1000 on a phone for their kid. That’s fucking nuts. I wonder if they all got a fucking pony when they were younger, too.

p.s. 2— This post is so fucking boring. And I keep swearing. My apologies.

©2019 what sandra thinks

Not sure if I should post this. But I’m going to trust that you are mature enough to be civil in the comments even if you disagree. Everyone has a right to their opinion. You have yours. I have mine.

Is there anyone who ever remembers
Changing their mind from the paint on a sign?
Is there anyone who really recalls ever breaking rank, at all
For something someone yelled real loud, one time?
Oh, everyone believes
In how they think it ought to be
Oh, everyone believes
And they’re not going easily

Arguing is pointless anyway. It is extremely rare for someone to be swayed. See above lyrics so kindly written by John Mayer.

All of that being said… I have not used today’s O word at all in this post. And I haven’t read the 300+ page report (You know the one). (Or 400+ or 700+ pages? I don’t know I’ve heard so many different numbers.) But I turned on the television this morning and saw this…

I didn’t think it was real. I thought maybe I was watching Stephen Colbert or Seth Meyers. But it was the wrong time of day. And if George Stephanopoulos is there, it must be real.

p.s.— I’m still super anxious about posting this. But then… I also can’t help myself. I’ll turn off comments if there’s a problem. Or I’ll remove the post. We’ll see…

©2019 what sandra thinks

I really don’t care for the name Sandra. [Sorry, Dad. I know you chose it.]

My whole life I have secretly wished my name was Samantha.

I should have made that my online identity from the start.

Regrets…

p.s.— I have another ‘name secret’. In my fiction drafts, I always use the same lead male character name. Nope, not telling you what it is. I have never used it here… I’ve always changed it before sharing my writing. I guess I feel like it’s mine… only for me… for my eyes only. Because I always fall in love with my male leads. I have a problem, I know.

©2019 what sandra thinks

I wrote about my daughter for D so I should write about my son, too. I’m not waiting for S, though. I have, like, twelve ideas for S. Besides, both of my kids’ names start with M. It wasn’t intentional, it just happened. The whole time I was pregnant with my daughter, I thought her name was going to start with E or S or A.

I feel totally justified in writing about my son for M. So there.

Like my daughter, the boy [as we usually refer to him, just as Homer refers to Bart] has more courage than I have. Like the girl, the boy stands up for himself, and I’m so proud of him for that—especially since he’s had his share of bullies. Sure, he might ignore the small things. But if it’s something more, he tells a teacher, the principal, someone. As a kid should. He got a real dick of a kid suspended once. Oh wait, no, there were two of them. I love that he speaks up and shows those little fuckers that they shouldn’t mess with him.

I know there are a few kids still who are quite often not nice, shall we say, to the boy, but he doesn’t let it tear him down. He recognizes that there are some things that he cannot control, and he doesn’t waste time trying. He’s a strong kid.

He seemed shy when he was younger, but I don’t think he’s particularly shy now. He’s pretty outspoken and independent. Although he still doesn’t want to make his own damn pb & j… but that’s my fault for always volunteering to do it for him. I should stop doing that. Anyway (another stupid pet word)… moving on…

The boy gets involved. This year, he was the ‘Tech Leader’ for the drama club (in charge of sets, props, etc.). For a kid who I thought was shy, he has proven me wrong. He made jokes when he was brought up on stage after the final performance to receive a gift for his hard work. He’s funny. And he surprises and amazes me all the time.

He is incredibly smart. He can just figure things out… all sorts of things. And with school, well, he is pretty amazing. He is in eighth grade this year—next year he starts high school. He applied for ‘The Academy’ (advanced honors program) at the high school and was accepted. Let’s just hope he lands a scholarship in a few years so we don’t lose the house to pay for college.

Another thing I adore about him is that he’s a saver. He might even be a miser, but I think it’s a good thing. He saves both his money and his chocolate. He can make that chocolate last a long time. He still has some that my daughter (the spender/giver) gave him for Valentine’s Day. He even has a stash of Hershey bars that my mom gave him for Christmas (yes, they are still good).

He paces himself. With money. And with chocolate.

I guess he’s superhuman.

p.s.— The boy also spends ‘too much’ time playing Fortnite. I guess it’s bad parenting to let him do that, but I don’t care. He always does homework first. Plus, I’d be a total hypocrite for how much time I spend on my favorite game/app. The one that shall not be named. 

p.s. #2— I realize I am a day behind. Today should be N. I’m working on it. Actually, that’s a lie. I haven’t been working on it. But I will. 

©2019 what sandra thinks

When I was a kid, Mom used to take us to this lake in Rhode Island.

[I do remember the name of said lake but I’m not going to mention it because I don’t want anyone to stalk me. I know, I have a ridiculous level of paranoia. I don’t even go there anymore… I don’t even live in RI anymore!]

My three sisters and I would pile into Mom’s station wagon, and she’d take us to this lake for the day a few times throughout the summer. [My poor dad was always working or on call. He came sometimes, though.] It never seemed to be unbearably crowded, but of course, this was many years ago. I remember swimming and burying my feet in the sand. I remember walking up to the arcade and the candy and food stands. I remember a very specific type of lollipop I would always get. I got one somewhere else recently. It wasn’t the same.

I often think of taking my kids to that lake, but it has changed too much. It would make me sad. And I don’t want that because remembering that place as it was makes me happy. I don’t want to ruin it.

p.s.— Those lollipops would be too sweet for me now. But I bet they’d taste different at the lake. 

©2019 what sandra thinks

Kiwis are delicious. I don’t know why I don’t buy them more often.

I’m going shopping.

p.s.— I also love bananas. 

©2019 what sandra thinks

I was just thinking…

Does everyone have pet words? I do and I hate them. Maybe I shouldn’t use the term ‘pet words‘ because generally, people like their pets. But I do not like my pet words.

Mine are all unnecessary words (or phrases). You can simply remove them and the sentence doesn’t lose any meaning. I’m in a constant state of self-editing because of these words.

I just automatically add ‘just‘ to, like, every other sentence. I just don’t understand it. Maybe it would be okay just once, but I just use it so much.

[As you can see, except for the quoted one, every other one should just not be there. (Oh my god, I just typed that without even thinking… and that one, too… argh!) Go ahead, read it without them. It’s just better. OMFG. I’m a mess.]

I really hate when I throw ‘really‘ all over the place. Why do I do it? I really don’t need it. It’s the same as above. You really can just remove it. So unnecessary.

I think I need to be more confident. I feel like I’m not confident enough. You know why? Because instead of just saying what I think or what I feel, I tend to preface my thoughts with ‘I think…‘ or ‘I feel like…‘ It’s so stupid. Obviously, if I’m writing it, it’s what I think or feel. I think it would be better for me to remove it. I feel like it doesn’t need to be there.

The thing is… these words and expressions just show up when I type. I’m typing this paragraph really fast so I can go back and see how many times I use them. It’s frustrating to be editing all the damn time while I’m writing. The thing is… I lose my train of thought. I think it would be better if I just waited until the end and did a ‘find‘ so I could just delete them all.

Wow… clearly ‘just‘ is my worst offender…

I think I’ll end this post here. I really do. The thing is… I just don’t have anything else to say. I feel like going on would just get boring. And really annoying.

p.s.— I had to lighten things up around here. It was getting too heavy… 

©2019 what sandra thinks

Here’s more shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and loneliness. And I think this one is even longer than part one. Sorry, loves.

… continued from here …

I guess on some level, there is love between my husband and me. But I am not in love with this man. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I ever was. In my [foolish] youth, I wanted someone so badly that I convinced myself he was the right guy for me… that I was in love. But it was all in my imagination. What also kills me is that I think my mother knew. [Smart lady, my mom.] She asked me, when he proposed, if I truly loved him or just the idea of him. She was spot-on. But I was too stupid, foolish, scared, deluded (take your pick) to see it.

My husband has moments of total dicketry. He can be an ass for no reason. I can be a bitch, so I can’t really call him out on that. But sometimes, he makes me feel so small. Like, Ant-Man sized. Minus any superpowers.

He’s not a good listener. He’s always somewhere else, often not taking his eyes off his phone or the tv. He never offers support of any kind—not verbally or physically. I get, ‘yeah’ and ‘I don’t know’ and other such useless and non-comforting responses. I don’t expect answers or solutions. I just want someone to care. I’m sure on some level he does care, but not enough to truly hear me.

But this support I long for—I don’t even want it from him. I sure as fuck don’t want a hug from him [not that he offers]. Don’t touch me. Oh, I want hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. But not from him. I want to be touched, but not by him. I need that kind of connection, but it doesn’t exist with him. Maybe it did once… maybe a little. But now, the thought of sex with him is unappealing. I’d rather be on my own. Or, you know, with someone who’s madly in love with me and I him.

But I am trapped. I won’t put my kids through a divorce. I don’t have a job so I can’t support myself. And, come on, it’s too late for me anyway. I’m not going to find someone… the right someone. I’m not going to fall in love, and no one is going to fall in love with me.

Imagination.

It’s where I want to live. I want to run away and stay there forever. It hurts me that it’s impossible. It hurts so much. The one thing I wanted more than anything else in my life—love. I’ll never have it. I often wonder, then, what’s the point in going on?

I’m not in love. I’m not happy.

—

I used to think that I was the reacher, but I’ve come to see, despite my general lack of confidence, that I am actually the settler.

Ted and Robin theorize that in every relationship, one person is a “reacher”, and one is a “settler”, who settles for the less attractive partner.
               —Wikipedia, How I Met Your Mother, “Jenkins”

And by less attractive, I don’t just mean physically. Here’s where the weird dose of confidence I don’t really grasp comes in. I hope it doesn’t come across as conceited or egotistical.

I am more beautiful than he is handsome.
I am smarter than he is (though he is quite smart).
I am more selfless and he is more selfish.
I am more romantic than he is. I am romantic and he is not.
I am more passionate than he is.
I am cool and he is… less cool.

I know… look at that… I found positive things to say about myself. Ironically, that positivity makes me feel worse. As the settler, if that’s what I am, I’ve failed myself. Why didn’t I hold out for the right man? I know why… because I was afraid I’d never find him… so I settled for what I could get. Mistake. Big mistake.

I want to fall in love. I want romance. I want sweetness. I want intelligence. I want humor. I want trust. I want passion. Lots of passion. I want generosity. I want tall. I want abs.

I hope he shows up in my dreams tonight. Tall, dark, and with sexy abs.

p.s.— I wonder if this gives everyone a deeper understanding of me and what my life is like. I don’t know, but I still feel ashamed. And I’m still dreaming about true love. Not sure why, though. I know deep down that’s all it will ever be for me… a dream.

©2019 what sandra thinks