I’m finally at a place in my life where I don’t feel particularly antsy or worried about whether or not I’ll make it. I feel fairly secure financially, and very confident in my ability to accomplish my goals. Should anything unexpected occur, I will remain on track. I’m proud of myself. All my planning has paid off. In addition, my son will be graduating from high school next year and we’ll both be moving on to the next chapter of our lives, which is exciting. When I reminisce on where we were 5-10 years ago, I am thrilled with the progress that we’ve made. 90% of those goals from yesterday are accomplished today. And I’m excited about getting closer to reaching my other goals.

This weekend I picked my family up so that they could help me get my front and back yards in order. It took us about 2 hours, with my stepfather doing most of the work, but now my house looks lived in and not abandoned lol. I’m so thankful for them.

On Saturday I was supposed to go out with my “Stuck in the 80s” friend as a rain check from last weekend, but she flaked on me. It was her suggestion that we go to this lounge a friend of hers had told her about so when we spoke and she acted annoyed, saying she’d “definitely” call me back and wouldn’t dream of flaking on me because she insisted she’s “not a flake,” I took her at her word. That is until 9pm rolled around and she still hadn’t called me back, not even to cancel. Now here it is Monday and still no word from her. But she swears she’s not a flake. Now, even if she has the worst memory on Earth, surely it occurred to her at some point between Saturday morning and Monday morning that she hadn’t followed up with me, not even via text message, which leaves me to assume that she is, indeed, a huge, disrespectful flake and cannot ever again be relied upon. She’s seen my last effort towards trying to get her petrified-to-live-ass out of the house. As far as I’m concerned, she can spend another 30 years indoors, up under her mother, God willing. I really don’t need another charity case. This is, for the most part, why I prefer to roll solo, rather than drag someone else along or have to deal with mixed interests.

My coworker wants me to go to Ibiza with her, saying “it’s the land of house music!” as if that would elicit excitement from me. I forced a grin not to be rude but I actually hate house music, ha. I guess because I’ve tolerated it while out dancing with her she just figured I liked it, but no. I’ve had my fill of it and don’t think I can stand another night out listening to it and expecting to want to dance to it. To me, house music is for the rhythm less, those who cannot dance so they merely bop along to a simple, repetitive “oontz oontz oontz” beat. It’s nerve wracking at best. So when she first said “hey! Let’s go to the Caribbean together” I thought she meant someplace where they play reggae and calypso (I don’t care much for calypso either, but I can deal with it), not house music. Ugh. I’m wondering if I should just keep my mouth closed and just go for the overall experience, hoping for the best. I mean, aside from the music, how horrible could Ibiza really be? I’ve added it in pencil to my bucket list. *Edit: I just realized that Ibiza isn't even in the Caribbean. She meant the Mediterranean. smh.