I feel nauseous. I miss him. I don't know that I did the right thing (though I am certain the way I did it was wrong). I feel bad for him, of course I want him to get rid of his obsession and come back to me. I also feel just a teensy weensy whisper of relief, of freedom to accomplish what I need to to be wholly responsible for myself. Shit, like figure out how to pay the rent, get and pay a babysitter, find a job while in grad school with 2 kids. Maybe I should look into co-op housing...
Later: negotiating love by text. Now, it's time to wait for him to come to terms with us and me to find out that all life is waiting, that waiting is just life in disguise...
- @#%^* my histrionics are PUNK ROCK *&%#$
- I'm just your typical divorcee, grad student, single mother of two who wants to A) gripe about shit B) make people read it C) magically lose weight and pin down prince charming while doing it. I'm hysterical and melodramatic -- and you know you like it!
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