So, Chet's in Yosmite, doing a photography thing with his dad and uncle and cousin.
I am home alone.
And I'm liking it way too much.
No guilt, no pressure and only my own needs to deal with. And the cat's.
Good thing I'm seeing the shrink tomorrow.
I love my husband dearly, but the freedom is really nice. I've missed my independence, which was once the most valuable thing to me. I've gotten so lost and mixed up, identity being nibbled away at. Bad economy making the situation worse. I still do so much on my own, but its tinged with Chet - how he's going to feel or react or want. And he controls the purse strings. Of all the things that Virgina Woolf was right about, it was the bit of money that every woman needs that is her own. And don't even get me started on Betty Freidan; my life has become the Feminine Mystique.
I miss the me that has slipped away. She was tougher and a had a point and generally knew who she was. She worried about money, and pulled the ends until they met. Most importantly, she didn't have to ask anyone for anything.
My own master and servant.
How I wish for a double appointment tomorrow.