Not quite my 49th birthday

On Thursday, September 6, I turned 49 years old.  The day before I had a nasty day at work and the resulting insomnia caused me to consider documenting my impending 49th year of life.  Of course, I'm actually beginning this on Sunday, September 9...late, as is a norm for me.  I don't actually expect anyone to read this, so I may take this blog as a way to vent...or to be introspective...or to simply ramble.  Time will tell.

An introduction.

I was born in Mt. Shasta, California on September 6, 1963, the youngest of two.  I have a brother, older by 4 years.  My parents were older.  For the time, just plain old.  My Father was born in 1911, making him 52 when I arrived.  My Mother was born in 1927...yes, 16 years his junior, and 36 when I was born.  This meant I spent a number of years being asked if they were my grandparents.  It also means I lost them when I was still pretty young, in my 20's.  At this time I've been without them much longer than with them...I still miss them both every day.

But that's depressing.  My life, despite that early loss, has turned out pretty good.  I have a wonderful husband of 12 years and a wonderful...if trying...17 year old son from my 1st marriage (which I might go on about later).  I have a job of 18 years which is a tad iffy right now, but I like it, I'm good at it damn it and I don't want to do anything else...possibly more on that later.

So, who am I?  I'm a wife, a mother, an administrative judge.  I like to cook, I hate to clean, I have bigger dreams than I have money or ability to make them happen.  I'm a little nerdy, a little ocd, a little bitchy and a lot fat.  I'm a procrastinator...one of my worst traits and the one that's made my job iffy.  I'm 362 days from 50 years old.

I'm Alice.  Pleased to meet you.