I can’t believe my baby is one year old!  Where does the time go?  Even though I am fairly sure I was blogging before blogging was a thing, it took me a while to start my own.  This makes sense though.  I’ve always been a late bloomer.  And now, after 28 posts and over 50,000 words written, I can honestly say…

The honeymoon is over.

While I practically spewed out articles in 2017, I’ve found that 2018 has been a completely different story.  Pun intended.

It’s not for a lack of material.  There’s been a shitload of things for me to write about – from Valentine’s Day to my birthday to the Real Housewives and so forth.  But, for some reason, I’m blocked, only able to regurgitate air and blank pages. #whyme ☹

So, what is writer’s block?

Writer’s block is a condition in which an author loses the ability to produce new work or experiences a creative slowdown.

Some people say writers block is merely an excuse not to write.  That doesn’t make much sense for me, as I LOVE to write.  It’s my passion.  My nirvana.  My therapy.  My lifeline.

Writing is everything to me.

Yet, if it’s everything, then what’s with the mandatory shutdown?  Is it because I’m too busy?  Overwhelmed?  Exhausted?  Now those all sound like excuses.  And if I am experiencing these things, shouldn’t that give me all the more reason to write?

Jesus, have I just run out of things to say?  Are there only so many ways to complain about being over forty, single and childless?  Let’s face it, Forty Tales has always had a shelf life.  In approximately six years, this puppy transforms into Fifty Tales and then I’ve got a whole new bag of problems.

So what’s the deal?  Did I waste all my words in the first year?  Has my creativity run out and left me a one hit wonder?

Or, am I being entirely too hard on myself and overreacting?

Definitely the former.

I launched FortyTales.com on April 14, 2017, which also happened to be Good Friday.  Being the good Catholic girl that I am, I had set a goal for myself to launch my website by the end of Lent, which I did.  I also managed not to eat potato chips for 40 days and 40 nights.  It was brutal.

Despite the lack of dehydrated potatoes and excess sodium coursing through my veins, I have always enjoyed Lent.  It is, (or is supposed to be), a time of peace and reflection.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting lately.  In fact, the entire year leading up to now, through this very blog, I have been contemplating my life and what it means.  And you know what I’ve learned about myself?

Not a fucking thing!

But I joke…

I have learned lot about myself, and at 44 years old, I’m finally learning to accept myself…shortcomings and all.

Readers Note: Someone recently checked my height and noted I have gone from 5’ 2” to 5’ 1½”.  Therefore, when I say shortcomings, I mean it.  I’m literally shrinking.  Shouldn’t this be something I write about halfway through Fifty Tales???

Top 10 Things I Learned About Myself…And Other Random Observations

I am the posterchild for anxiety…and I’m okay with that.  In fact, it’s a title (and a cross) I’m proud to bare.  After years of allowing my anxiety to get the best of me, I’ve finally got a handle on it, and if there is a way I can help others with similar stresses – bring it on!  Best remedy is self-care.  And a small dosage of Zoloft doesn’t hurt either.

I am not, and may never be, a mother.  And unlike my daily dosage of Zoloft, this has been a hard pill to swallow, especially as I’ve entered my forties.  Yet, I’ve recently come to the realization that I am more ashamed of not achieving mom-status than I am regretful.  In society, we’re taught that this is something women are supposed to do, and if you don’t, you are an outcast.  I’ve felt like I’ve been missing out for a long time now, but I also feel it’s time to move on.  If it’s meant to be, it will be, but if it never comes to fruition, I will survive (and can still live a very fulfilling life).  Besides, I have a baby, my precious Forty Tales!  And I couldn’t be prouder.

The Real Housewives suck. This revelation came to me as I noticed the biggest storyline on the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills is over one housewife serving wine to another housewife in a champagne flute.  THE HORROR!!!  THE HORROR!!!  The season is not over yet, and they’re still arguing about this.  It’s absolutely ridiculous!  I guess as I’ve grown older, (or should I say, more mature), I find it harder to digest the Housewives, (aka fame whores), absurd antics.  I also find it harder to digest raw vegetables.  However, like the merciless veggies, the Housewives are something I am not quite ready to give up on just yet, even as one housewife throws wine in the face of another…from the wrong glass!  Da-Da-Dum.

I have a big butt, and I cannot lie.  Ironically, I started going to a trainer to work my ass off, and now I find myself with a little more junk in my trunk than I’d prefer.  Granted, it’s solid junk, but even in my forties, I am still self-conscious over some of the same things I was insecure about as far back as high school.  Will I ever get passed this?  Will I ever be able to look in the mirror and say I like what I see?  All signs point to…possibly.  I admit, I’m a work in progress, and I realize that as others accept me for who I am, it’s something I need to work on for myself.  So it’s with a heavy heart, and an even heavier rear end, that I vow to continue to work on this.  In the meantime…Tracy’s got back!

Age appropriateness is a state of mind. To some, being “age appropriate” means to be old.  To me, while definitely a sign of maturity, it’s just the next chapter of life.  I am not in my twenties anymore.  Tight clothing and skin showing is not an option…for me.  It’s a choice.  At this stage in my life, I want to dress more appropriately, as a woman in her forties.  But it doesn’t mean to throw a bag over my head and dawn a muumuu.  It just means changing up my look, to which I have decided that I want to channel Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.  Two beautiful ladies with iconic style.  Yes, at my age, I can still be cute, sexy and pretty, AND keep my tits and ass under wraps.  Housewives, take note!

I’m a crazy Cat Lady, and proud of it!  About a week ago, someone in my office found out I had two cats and immediately labeled me as a Crazy Cat Lady.  He also found out I was an only child and said I was “surprisingly” well-adjusted.  But, let’s just deal with one insult at a time.  At first I was a little taken aback by his cat comment, or more so, embarrassed.  Yet, then I realized I’m just allowing myself to be taken down by a stupid stereotype created to insult singles because they stray away from the “norm”.  I love my gigantic fur babies!  They love me unconditionally, (unless I withhold food), make me laugh, and have been there for me, (without question but with some crotch licking), during some of my darkest times.  So I don’t care what anyone says about me…I am woman; hear me meow!

My pretty dress addiction is going to send me to rehab.  Yes, I am a dress-aholic and I need help!  Like a bad addiction to crack, I just can’t get enough.  I really do try to fight the urges, but there are just so many pretty dresses, in so many pretty styles, and so many pretty colors.  Can anyone really blame me?  I put on a pretty dress and I’m suddenly transformed into a confident, beautiful woman.  This does the trick – every time!  Therefore, my addiction is really a necessity to help me battle all my insecurities, so I will continue to conquer…one pretty dress at a time.

Dateline rules!  Sure it’s probably the main reason I am alone, as it plays into my fear of being killed by a significant other, like so many on that show.  But still…there is no other way I would want to spend a Friday night.  And, it would probably be a fun date night, although, I wouldn’t want to give anyone any ideas.  #dontwatchalone

I know I’m a strong, independent woman…but I still want to be rescued. Shut your mouth, is probably what everyone is thinking as they read that scandalous remark.  But I can’t help it.   I may not believe in Fairy Tales anymore, but I grew up dreaming about them, which leaves a theoretical mark.  I know I don’t need a man to grow old with, but I really want one.  How about, instead of being rescued, we can make it a co-rescue?  Can someone just meet me halfway?  For the love of god…merely halfway?!?!    

When all else fails, keep going. I tell myself this every day.

I haven’t been completely stagnant over this Lenten period.  I’ve been working on my pet project, Forty Tales the book, AND I’ve debuted my brand new logo!  A huge shout out goes to Daniel Lombardi of Design Nomad (www.designnomad.co), who is the creative genius behind my new logo – I couldn’t be happier with it and feel it’s a great representation of this site and this Age Appropriate Princess!

As I conclude this reflection and look back on the year that has passed, I don’t have any regrets.  I like the direction my life is moving and I know my current writing blockage will get out of my way…eventually.  (Hey, I knocked out 1,721 words right here!)

And in the meantime, as I enter into this second year of Forty Tales, I will continue to live hopefully ever after.