Blood, sweat and tears
Honesty is way up there for my personality. Annoyingly so. True grit. One person called me a Pit-Bull once. Not quite a fluffy poodle. Nor your sweet Chihuahua. I hate bullshit, so to speak. Also within and towards myself, though. Not many people like to hang out with me for that reason. Its true. My Birthday party two years ago, not even one person showed up. Not one single person came to my party. I had invited twelve. They all cancelled one after the other. “Here, have a taste of me, blood, sweat and tears.” I am really praying for this one person who just likes me the way I am. Someone who just hangs with me because they want to. Some people have called me an outsider, someone who just does not fit in. At my church, a girl in all earnest y asked me why I am still around. Supposedly someone like me should know all by herself that she does not belong. Another girl comforted me that now the time has come for God to use misfits like me. Stories like this abound. One man suggested I am weird like my husband. At the ice cream parlour where you can find “Blood, sweat and tears”, you would only find one customer. Actually, two. My wonderful husband who is also my dearest friend besides being a magnificent lover. And the Lover of my soul. If you know my blog, you should know by now who that is. It’s not all as bad as it seems, I guess.