Three.
I'm sinking back into the bad habit of staying up so late that my insides feel like they might stop working. It's three in the morning. Honestly, what the hell am I doing? I cried on the phone to my mother tonight. I had texted her and apologized for being a terrible daughter and I wished we were closer. She called me within five minutes.
"What's wrong, Katie? Did you just watch a sad movie?"
"No, Mom. I just miss you."
"Oh, baby. I miss you too. You are NOT a horrible daughter. We are becoming closer and closer every day and I love it. I love how you call me just to tell me you're thinking about me. I love how good of a mother YOU are, and the way Connor looks at you."
"Thanks, Mom. I love you."
We talked longer after that. I basically told her how confused I was and how stressed out about my life I was. I just wish I could get my shit in order. She told me that it took her forty-three years to figure out what was important to her and if I'm just starting to figure it out at nineteen, there's nothing to be ashamed about. I guess she's right.
It always helps when you have an outside source to straighten your perspective, even if it's a minor change.
She's coming over tomorrow... today, whichever. I never consider it the next day until the sun rises.
As of right now, my head should be on my pillow, and my arms should be around my son. I want to write more, but my hands feel like they're underwater, struggling to move at the speed they should be.
Goodnight.
"What's wrong, Katie? Did you just watch a sad movie?"
"No, Mom. I just miss you."
"Oh, baby. I miss you too. You are NOT a horrible daughter. We are becoming closer and closer every day and I love it. I love how you call me just to tell me you're thinking about me. I love how good of a mother YOU are, and the way Connor looks at you."
"Thanks, Mom. I love you."
We talked longer after that. I basically told her how confused I was and how stressed out about my life I was. I just wish I could get my shit in order. She told me that it took her forty-three years to figure out what was important to her and if I'm just starting to figure it out at nineteen, there's nothing to be ashamed about. I guess she's right.
It always helps when you have an outside source to straighten your perspective, even if it's a minor change.
She's coming over tomorrow... today, whichever. I never consider it the next day until the sun rises.
As of right now, my head should be on my pillow, and my arms should be around my son. I want to write more, but my hands feel like they're underwater, struggling to move at the speed they should be.
Goodnight.