I haven't had a whole lot to say lately. Which is rather interesting because truth be told, a lot of stuff has been going on in my life, in my head, in my house, in my little neck of the world. As it does in everyone's lives. Let's see...why is that I feel I don't have much to say?
So I ask...Self? Yeah, right here. What's been up with you lately? Who, me? Uh, yeah. Well, since you asked and you are such a good friend to me and know me better than anyone, let me tell ya. See, I'm sad. This makes me very irritated because damned if there isn't a whole lotta people a lot worse off than me and I have many blessings that I should be thanking God, Mother Earth, Loretta Lynn and Carbs for. But seriously, I've just about had it with a few things. I've had it with living this split house/town/BS way. I'm thisclose to pitching a fit of epic proportions. E P I C. I've had just about enough of robbing Peter to pay Paul to keep these two houses afloat. I miss having my husband sleeping beside me every night and I miss the way his hand would find it's way to it's resting spot on my hip or tucked under me. I even miss the way his pillow smells. I am sick of talking about it and even sicker of NOT talking about it. Now that makes perfect sense doesn't it?
My baby girl. In an instant. Bam. Senior year. Um. 'Scuse me?! Wasn't she just in 1st grade? I need to find a way to slow this train down. I want to just hold on to her a while longer. I'm not ready for the world to take her. Oh but wait, that's just it. The world isn't "taking her". She is gonna take on the world. Either way, slow....down.
My little man. Couple times a day I get all hot-eyed trying to hold back tears. I miss him. Gut wrentchingly miss him. I did not give birth to this awesomeness that is Dallas, but I love him like I did. And so help me, if She thinks for one second that I'm not of matter, that I don't count in his life and that I'm not his...my mouth full of blood from holding my tongue will come undone.
Self, seems to me you got lots to say. Really? No.Shit.
