The world has turned into an absolute shitshow, and I need an escape.
Maybe my thoughts and way of life resonate with other GenX women. Maybe blogs are dead. Or maybe there are a bunch of other GenX women who still enjoy an old-school blog. I miss what we had before social media took over—blogs, message boards, and legit online communities.
Either way, the wait time to see a therapist in this country is a couple of years—so a blog, it is!
GenX women are still badass!
Look at us in our AARP era! GenX women have NOT mellowed with age. We’re still feral AF. We call it like we see it—and totally will not be putting up with anyone’s shit.
Who’s writing this?
I’m one of the “forgotten generation” of GenX women. Vintage 1975.
I did the ’90s New England undergrad thing – alternative radio show, food service jobs, road trips, concerts, the best friends, and a cheap off-campus apartment in a (probably haunted) Victorian mansion. I won the campus literary contest, was active in theatre, and campaigned for gay rights even though I was straight.
I met my future husband in 1995. We said “I do” to our starter marriage in 2000, just the two of us and a preacher on a Jamaican beach.
We had a good run, until my employer offered me an expat contract and a guaranteed job for him. Being hardcore DINKs, the answer was obvious to me. He disagreed.
So I blew it all up and fvcked off to Europe during the early Obama years.
I married a Brit, secured a permanent visa, and was living my best life. Then he had a seizure that went on for aeons. In the middle of a restaurant. On vacation.
A few weeks later, with all the nonchalance of a psychopath, he demanded a divorce.
For those keeping score—that’s two (ah-ah-ah!) divorces before 45. OMG!
My Current Situation
I’ve struck out with husbands, and the dating pool is a fucking dumpster fire. I’ve noped out of that shit for good because I can’t be bothered to burn the haystack on the off-chance that there’s needle somewhere.
In light of ongoing events, that expat contract turned out to be my greatest stroke of luck. I still live in Europe. I own a small apartment in the city, which I share with a pair of foster cats who never left. I work part-time. I volunteer. I identify as a freegan, and stay far away from the rat race. I think the younger me would be impressed.