Been lying in my own filth for days, texting desperately, with doubt clogging the arteries to my heart. Miss him? Yes. Ache for us? Yes. Know what happiness would look like for us? Not yet. Don't think he does either. Space for me is the toughest. Dad used to say he couldn't discipline me as a kid because as soon as the conflict began I was a puddle of tears and cling to him like a monkey baby. He'd have to pry me off just to talk to me. I am the same. So the same.
Enter my sister the Queen. Thank G_D for her. She took the kids for me today so I can actually start on my bane (the paper re-write). And she's going to make sure they have fun, which lightens my heart. And she talked sense to me for an hour last night. About he and I needing space, about how we are both addicts in our own way, and that we need the space in order to be clear before we talk to each other -- talk about what we can accept and what we cannot.
Though it makes sense, being clear is a rather vague concept to me. While he and my sister seem to instinctively grasp it, I remain grasping. Time will tell, time will tell...
- @#%^* 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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