Melissa McLean Montgomery

Thanks to all the people who have let me down, lied to me, given me nothing, denied me, underestimated me, betrayed me, ignored me, shunned me, written me off, written me out, cast me off....... If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be where I am now. Thank you! All my love, Melissa xoxoxo

While laying awake last night my thoughts traveled to all my female friends who now have children. They have one thing in common: they have all married a rich man. The ones who have married a poor man are no longer together or together with their child and unhappy. Feminism states that women are equal to men and women can and should have their own money. But many women I know don't, their number one goal, therefore, was to find a rich man if they wanted a child. It is an attractive thing: money. It makes life easier. I married for love. I often wonder what it would have been like to have a child and raise it. I would have wanted to give it everything I had- private school, violin and riding lessons, a pony, a horse, roller skates, ice skates. I did not want to be scraping together a few dollars to buy second-hand clothes for my child. Shopping second- hand for my self is cool, but there is no way I would want to take my child shopping at a thrift store. So there it is. I am much h...

My mother in law passed away suddenly at the beginning of the year. She was the best. I loved her and she loved me. Perhaps the greatest thing about her was that she loved me - wholly, completely, without judgment, unconditionally. I am forever grateful for having been loved by her. How I loved her- Mirta, Milto, Willies, Binkers, Billie JJ, Willie Wonka, Binkies, Winkies, Wiltires. She was kind and caring, fierce and jolly. Everyone she met loved her instantly. This is not the first time I have experienced the sudden passing of a loved one. When someone passes suddenly, apart from the pain and sadness, a sense of urgency is what I feel the strongest. Life is finite. Do what you must. Today. Now.

Thought of the day: If one writes a blog are they a writer? Or a blogger? If one writes here in this blog is one a proper writer or a diarist? Or a blogger because this is a blog, it's not really writing. Is this an illegitimate form of expressing oneself because it is a blog and everyone and their dog has one? Or is it illegitimate because it ( the writer's services ) has not been paid for? Am I a real writer? Are you a real reader? Would this be a proper reading experience if it was written in a book? Would I feel like a real writer if I had written a book? I think so. If I had it in my hands and my name was printed on it that would indeed feel terrific. Everyone says I should be a writer. " You should write a book, Melissa, " they say. Yeah yeah yeah. Well, that's all well and good except I have no idea for a book. Easier said than done I say. I usually just nod my head in blithe agreement. Yes and I should be a fashion model and a real estate agent and a ch...

The end of a long hot summer. The weather finally broke last night with a little rain. The skies are finally clearing. I can see clearly now.

It's always on . Sex and the City reruns are my friend. After a hard day , I come home to an empty house ( my partner works evenings ) . And there it is on the Cosmo Network. The shows I have seen over and over again. Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. My old buddies. I'd like to think I am and unique amalgamation of all four. They have been with me since the olden days when I was single. When I met my partner we watched it together. The show is now considered retro: the last episode aired in 2004. But it is still relevant. It was so ahead of its time that it hardly seems dated. In fact, it is dated only by the massive cell phones and payphones the characters use. The fashions are still in style, that's how fashion forward Patricia Field's creations were. And the plots are timeless; the hilarious differences between men and women, marriage, divorce, affairs, impotence, sexual harassment, unemployment, pot, eating, older men, younger men, adoption, funerals, ...

Behold The ceiling above me looks like the sky. The line of air looks like the horizon. My sheet looks like a meadow of flowers.