Oh yes, a line from one of my favorite flicks - although most would be surprised to learn that. I can't watch the previews from that f*cked up "One Missed Call" crap. (No surprise here, I'm still afraid to flush the toilet at night.)
So no blog since October, although I think about it every night. I wish I had captured what I was thinking - what I was pissed about, because I'm pissed about a lot of things right now. I don't hide the fact that I spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself: sorry that I can't stick to a diet or exercise plan, sorry that Kenny works out of town and I'm left alone with three kids, sorry that my job is so, so, so SO uncertain, sorry that my family just doesn't get it, sorry that my life is not my own.
What the hell did I sign up for, anyway? It's not like I got married to have a constant party pal; I wanted to have a family, children, a dog and a house. I remember wanting so desperately to have my own house so that when everything else in the world fell down, I could hug my walls and know that it's mine.
But it's not - it's the bank's house so there's no fun in hugging walls that could disappear literally in a matter of months. There goes the bottom lip again.
So where does life take an uphill swing? When do things get happy again? I know the answers, I just don't want to type them. If I do, I expose myself. If I write them, they are real; if I never type exactly what I'm feeling no one will ever know. No one will ever know what an incredibly screwed up person I really am. Frasier Crane wouldn't have enough couch space (or time) for this confession of a so, so spotted mind. Hmmm...my BFF Frasier.
So no blog since October, although I think about it every night. I wish I had captured what I was thinking - what I was pissed about, because I'm pissed about a lot of things right now. I don't hide the fact that I spend a lot of time feeling sorry for myself: sorry that I can't stick to a diet or exercise plan, sorry that Kenny works out of town and I'm left alone with three kids, sorry that my job is so, so, so SO uncertain, sorry that my family just doesn't get it, sorry that my life is not my own.
What the hell did I sign up for, anyway? It's not like I got married to have a constant party pal; I wanted to have a family, children, a dog and a house. I remember wanting so desperately to have my own house so that when everything else in the world fell down, I could hug my walls and know that it's mine.
But it's not - it's the bank's house so there's no fun in hugging walls that could disappear literally in a matter of months. There goes the bottom lip again.
So where does life take an uphill swing? When do things get happy again? I know the answers, I just don't want to type them. If I do, I expose myself. If I write them, they are real; if I never type exactly what I'm feeling no one will ever know. No one will ever know what an incredibly screwed up person I really am. Frasier Crane wouldn't have enough couch space (or time) for this confession of a so, so spotted mind. Hmmm...my BFF Frasier.
