So I finally started packing tonight for the move. I guess I've been pretending that it isn't really going to happen. It's so strange going through the house and figuring out item by item what I get and what my husband gets. I was looking through things in the attic and came across this box of towels that I got as a wedding present -- they're monogrammed with my initials from my maiden name. How ironic that I'll be using them now.
I feel really guilty seeing all the things we got as wedding presents, like I should give everything back. But, I did make it five years -- a helluva lot longer than my brother who got divorced within the first year.
My parents are giving me a hard time about this whole thing -- I told them over six months ago that as soon as I got a job, I'd be moving out. When I called my father last week to let him know that I'd found a place to live he got mad at me, saying that I should have given him warning, that he felt like I'd "spilled a bucket of cold water over his head". Such melodrama.
P. and I drive them crazy because we're getting along better now than we have in years, probably. My father tells me that he finds this all very confusing. Yeah, well, welcome to the club. P. is my best friend. I mean, that's why I married him. We had good intentions, but friendship isn't necessarily enough to make a marriage work. My mother tells me that I don't realize how lucky I am -- that I'm married to a man who doesn't beat me up or cheat on me -- "he comes home to you at night," she says, like this is some miracle. Yee fucking haw.
I'm meeting someone new this week. That makes me sound psychic doesn't it? Actually, I met this girl online months and months ago, and I'd sort of stopped emailing her, but she called last week and now we're meeting in person for the first time. The problem is this: when we first "met" online I wasn't smoking, and now I am. And she has this really rare disease where her lungs are all stiff and icky, and she can't be around smoke. Sigh. I've gotten into this really strange habit of smoking for a couple months, then stopping for a couple, and then starting again. So when I meet people who are all anti-smoking when I'm not smoking I make sure to say that I'm a non-smoker. And then when I start smoking again I feel like a liar. L. gets on my case a lot about the smoking -- a tad bit hypocritical when she keeps a pack under her bed for after sex. She doesn't understand much about my self-destructive behavior, which is a bit of an issue because then there's a lot of myself that I can't share with her. But on the other hand, it's nice to have someone so emotionally, um, pure, or balanced, or whatever in my life. I've made an effort to meet people who can relate to those darker things, but all I seem to find is psychos. I mean, there's good psycho and there's bad psycho.
Stabbing pain in eye . . . will finish later.
I feel really guilty seeing all the things we got as wedding presents, like I should give everything back. But, I did make it five years -- a helluva lot longer than my brother who got divorced within the first year.
My parents are giving me a hard time about this whole thing -- I told them over six months ago that as soon as I got a job, I'd be moving out. When I called my father last week to let him know that I'd found a place to live he got mad at me, saying that I should have given him warning, that he felt like I'd "spilled a bucket of cold water over his head". Such melodrama.
P. and I drive them crazy because we're getting along better now than we have in years, probably. My father tells me that he finds this all very confusing. Yeah, well, welcome to the club. P. is my best friend. I mean, that's why I married him. We had good intentions, but friendship isn't necessarily enough to make a marriage work. My mother tells me that I don't realize how lucky I am -- that I'm married to a man who doesn't beat me up or cheat on me -- "he comes home to you at night," she says, like this is some miracle. Yee fucking haw.
I'm meeting someone new this week. That makes me sound psychic doesn't it? Actually, I met this girl online months and months ago, and I'd sort of stopped emailing her, but she called last week and now we're meeting in person for the first time. The problem is this: when we first "met" online I wasn't smoking, and now I am. And she has this really rare disease where her lungs are all stiff and icky, and she can't be around smoke. Sigh. I've gotten into this really strange habit of smoking for a couple months, then stopping for a couple, and then starting again. So when I meet people who are all anti-smoking when I'm not smoking I make sure to say that I'm a non-smoker. And then when I start smoking again I feel like a liar. L. gets on my case a lot about the smoking -- a tad bit hypocritical when she keeps a pack under her bed for after sex. She doesn't understand much about my self-destructive behavior, which is a bit of an issue because then there's a lot of myself that I can't share with her. But on the other hand, it's nice to have someone so emotionally, um, pure, or balanced, or whatever in my life. I've made an effort to meet people who can relate to those darker things, but all I seem to find is psychos. I mean, there's good psycho and there's bad psycho.
Stabbing pain in eye . . . will finish later.
it's like when your depressed to the point where it takes on a self rightous life of it's own and you find yourself sitting in the dark listening to sappy music with a beer and a smoke but feeling stragely good about it,
it's the difference between feeling ALL your emotions to their fullest but maintaining yourself, or letting them rule over you and loseing yourself
aw well i babble
good luck lady
I just spent the weekend at Jeremy's *the guy who is my good friend and sex partner but not a romantic option* and shit sort of hit the fan. It's not over - but I don't know where we're at and it hurts.
Reading your entry was good though - the timing worked well. I am off to bed for now. Things will be better in a few weeks. I fucking hate it when shit hits the fan - but it's always the same and time always heals.