(no subject)
Been a while I suppose. Six months, I think. I am sure things have happened, but nothing has really changed. We moved, I started a new job, Pinky Pirate has grown into a little girl who speaks and runs and chases bubbles that fall from a new bubble wand. I still have a sense that something better is waiting just beyond my line of sight. I have a feeling of anticipation that is like reading a good book that is climbing to a climax, knowing it's three in the morning, you're exhausted and have to work the next day - be nice and smart and funny for hordes of annoying young self centered learners - and still eagerly turning the pages, desperate to get to the payoff that must be on the next page. Or maybe the next. Only I'm not enjoying the process that much, just slowly waiting for the part where you close the book, pull up the covers smiling, knowing that the cost was so worth it. My therapist calls me hopeful, I think it's just a unsatisfied curiosity about what I'm growing up to be.