This4life's Blog

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There has to be more to life than this.

Boston 187


I want my life to be something more than just finding the mr or ms right, yet everywhere I turn I find myself thinking about men, about marriage, about kids and the nice cookie cutter life I might have someday. Breaking up with Jerry is one of the hardest things I have ever done. There are times where my decision haunts me, there are times, like now, where I can’t remember why I gave him up- for what? For whom? Yet I sit here and listen to myself and it disgusts me. There has to be more to life than sex… but all I hear myself wine about is men. Its irritating. I want to stop caring about sex so much. Currently I have no actual drive to seek out a partner, I mean, my libido isn’t gone- but it sure as hells suppressed. Yet, while I do not want to have sex with other people, while I do not want to even think about dating because the pain I’m experiencing from breaking up with Jerry is still on the surface, all I seem to hear form myself is boy talk… or complaining- specifically about my job. Not to get all philosophical on everyone’s asses, but isn’t there more than this? As I try to list the things that I can think of that are more important, I think of these: Friends, Family, sometimes artistic expression. When I speak I do not want to hear an unending wail about how I am not ready to date, or how I miss Jerry, or how work sucks and some of the people at it suck. I am becoming a very bitter person. I’m not sure how the hell I got this way, but I’m sick of it. When I speak I want to be interesting, have something good to say, have experiences to input. I want to strive toward something- I’m not sure what, but I know I want to work at it. I want to drown myself in all my interests- stop thinking about men, sex, babies and start thinking about learning french, painting, taking my dog on walks. Hobbies. Interests. Information. These are all things that are more important than fucking, more important than physical relationships. I want more friendships, real friends- the kind that make me bark laughter at the world. I need more friends here. Because I think I’m not only irritating myself- but I’m irritating the friends I have as well.

What the hell to write?


I have stopped by here and stared at this screen multiple times these past couple weeks thinking of witty things to say. I have now realized that the daunting pressure that is this blank box is a metaphorical cock block. I have no mojo while staring at it, and thus this explains why in the past I have resorted to telling you about my life. In normal, everyday settings, I am what people describe as fun. With exception to the few, the proud, the oddly intimidating people in my life, I am what most would call boisterous, loud, free, and vivacious. Except here. My philosophic thoughts are drained, my humor falls flat, and my tone comes out somewhat winy, slightly abrasive, and overall unappealing. If anyone who knows me experiences this every time they see me, they may consider me a number of things, stupid being among them, yet I am far from it. Or at least I like to think I am.

So Why the apprehension? Why do I shoot myself in the foot? Most of the time I want them to like me, like I want this white box and those who stumble over this to like me. I think so much about this that I shut down. I like to blame the people, but the truth is- I’m better suited for not giving a shit. Yet for these select few, I have already decided that they don’t like me, that they won’t like me, that if left alone together it would be like one awkward silent car ride. Maybe I lack the tact to understand where I went wrong, when I became someone worth ignoring, or, which is more preferable, maybe I do this to myself. Maybe they would give me a chance, stop ignoring me, if I just simply stopped caring what they thought.

So, here’s my New Year’s in July resolution: I will work to stop over thinking around intimidating people. I will accept that I will make a fool out of myself in front of them, and as I do with everyone else- I will laugh it off. These people are not special, and I will not build them up to be something more than what they are, which is human. Plain and simple.

Enjoy the sunshine-y tree.

Nitty Gritty

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Life as we know it changes every second of every day, moment to moment, breath to breath. This is the one consistency about life: change. I wouldn’t have the audacity to say that my life has been flipped on its back and left to squirm in the dust more than the average person’s, but then again I have had quite a few people tell me that I have an interesting story to tell. Which is just a nice way to say I’ve fucked up and they like hearing about it. So, if I’m going to restart this blog, if I’m going to try investing some time in writing something other than the boring life narrative “this is what happened today…” teenage diary bullshit, I’ll need to give you a quick Maggie wiki of sorts. You can call it a re introduction or maybe a short memoir. Whatever the case, if this bores you to tears you have my sincerest apologies… seriously- I won’t even curse at you for being a dick. I’ve matured.

So here it is:

My name is Margaret Louise Berg. I am 24 years old and the oldest of three girls. My parents got divorced when I was sixteen. I got married at 18 and divorced at 19. I have a degree in Cosmetology which I use to do kitchen hair for my friends. This next school year I will be a senior with a major in English and a minor in Sociology. I just recently broke up with a guy I had been dating for four years. We had been engaged, but he called it off and I stuck around for some reason. Currently my life consists of work, awkward texts messages from messy rebounds, pity fucks, and former friends with benefits, and of course conversations with my gay room mate and my dog. Through all of this I’ve become that asexual girl crushing on tv stars and day dreaming about my life when I grow up- except I’ve finally realized something: growing up is a myth.

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