(no subject)
11 very long days. 2 more to go. Just the thought going back to that hotel for two more nights makes me ill. I crave my own bed in my own quirky apartment. I miss the church bell. The family drama is more than old. I think I'm about done being the middle-man and am going to have to say so. Seeing my ex-husband for the first time in 4 years was odd. Lovely and strange and difficult and needed. We're so different now and still so much the same. Such a strange sensation to sit across the table from the person you once chose to be your life partner and talk about being lonely, wanting to be married, and wanting family, knowing that we could have/should have had that together. I felt like I was talking with someone who was a complete stranger and who knows me better than most at the same time. It made me miss evening walks with the dog and appetizer night out on the patio smoking way too many cigarettes. Another painful realization came about too but I can't even write about that without crying. Good to see and be seen anyway. Time with church friends was good and also needed. There are a few that somehow know just what to say. I miss Adam's sermon's. I forget how good they are and how much I need to hear them. But if one more person asks me that same question I hate answering, I might just vomit. Now, holding the babies was probably not a good call. I'm not sure what it is but once I have one in my arms, I don't want to let go. I suppose its that damn proverbial clock. I'm not getting any younger, I think to myself, and I begin to understand why women choose to become single parents. But I know that is not what I want nor a very good idea at all and that once I get back home, the fever will pass. An early Sunday morning phone call from a Portland friend makes things a bit better and makes me more anxious to get back home. It really is home. Or at least its going to be. I just need a little more time. At least when I get there I won't have to worry about finding a job. A new job with a bigger pay check takes a load off the mind. One down, one to go.
....odd...I don't know why I write here. Any of this. The only people who read it are my ex-boyfriend, his friends, his mother, I believe ocassionally my ex-husband, and a few others. What purpose this serves for me I don't know. Perhaps it's the attention. Perhaps a way to vent. Or perhaps it's the control. Journaling in a book has been tough since mother decided to read mine all those years ago. Now, there are very few secrets and my emotional regurgitation is out there for anyone and everyone to see. But to what end? No one really needs to read this stuff. No one likely even wants to. It's probably all very inappropriate. Well, I guess I never have been entirely appropriate so maybe it fits.
....odd...I don't know why I write here. Any of this. The only people who read it are my ex-boyfriend, his friends, his mother, I believe ocassionally my ex-husband, and a few others. What purpose this serves for me I don't know. Perhaps it's the attention. Perhaps a way to vent. Or perhaps it's the control. Journaling in a book has been tough since mother decided to read mine all those years ago. Now, there are very few secrets and my emotional regurgitation is out there for anyone and everyone to see. But to what end? No one really needs to read this stuff. No one likely even wants to. It's probably all very inappropriate. Well, I guess I never have been entirely appropriate so maybe it fits.