I’m hoping to hell there is a life after this because if I died tomorrow my life would be shit. I really hope an after life would supply me with a feeling of fulfillment. If this is it and all I get, I’m fucking fucked and miserable.
Good guys still exist.
I’m wearing a sweater with ruffles around the collar in the office because a) it’s so cold and b) it’s comfortable. I received it from a friend who was going through old clothes that she wanted to get rid off. I grabbed it up…free! I feel so awkward being the tomboy I claim to be, sitting here in ruffles. I might as well be in drag.
No, I didn’t cry. I think after going through everything we have I’m happy to see a normal functioning five year old be happy and proud of himself.
I only thought of their deceased father missing this day after I had left and was in the car. I can’t change anything.
So I’m now the old mother of a kindergartener and a repeating first grader. I held him back because of his speech impairment and developmental delay. This all may be the result of the syndrome he was diagnosed with after birth or not. But we take it one day at a time at our house:)
Is my birthday. I’m considering a move. A job change. A life change. I’m a love addict. I’m wanting a fresh start. Just a do-over.
I’m sitting in a restaurant analyzing the freshness of their produce because my company supplies it. My God, I’m old.
I realize friends ask if you made it home safely. So does family.
I realize I also seem flighty, bipolar, weird. I am.
But I’m human and it’s taken me awhile to be okay with this.
I’m sitting in a restaurant still hungry and all alone.
I guess it’s time I admit I’m not as pretty as I believed I was, am. I’m not that attractive. I’m not worth walking up to. I’m not worth talking to, getting to know…
Now you know why people commit suicide. I’ve known.
Thinking of moving home. Home being Kentucky. Maybe I can escape my demons or at least outrun them for a bit.