You Thought You Were Normal

A middle-somewhat aged woman discovers she may, or may not be, as normal as she thought.

I'm, I think, 33. I hate really keeping track, and I've never been good aat math. I count on my fingers "'79 to '89, then '89 to '99 . . . " and so on. Like a little kid learning to add. Anyway, my life is somewhat normal. "Normal" is the key word, because what IS normal?? I have a husband. A house. Dogs, a job, a car, bills, a kid . . . blah, blah, blah. It's normal. But, is normal the start of "fulfilled"? Or "happy"?

Look. I've always been a reflector. I don't live and not think. I analyze. I want to understand the purpose and reason for things. So I do things, and I reflect. I've never been perfect.