Wrestling in the front yard at 200 AM in my bra and panties.
Guess I can check that off my bucket list.
“When I am with you, we stay up all night. When you’re not here, I can’t get to sleep.”
Sweet, sweet insomnia.
My Journal
It’s not depressed, and at this point stressed isn’t even the right word as much as pissed, tormented with anxiety, and exhausted in every way a person can be exhausted, to the extent that when I’m looking at my rack of shoes in the morning, even the idea of wearing heals is just too much, so I don’t, and curling my hair is too much, so I don’t. Who is this girl wearing a pony tail 3 days in a row? I don’t like her. Thank god my lover likes to grab a pony tail.
I’m trying not to drink but it’s very very hard.
Two days ago I was in the gym for the first time in a MONTH. It was HORRIBLE. I didn’t like her either. I didn’t like what I saw or how I felt. So much for beach season. Or attracting the right kind of man into my life.
He’s been a faithful lover for almost 2 years, but he’ll never be more than a friend. Quirky musicians. But at least we finally got the farting during sex out of the way. It’s all whoops-wrong-hole and sorry-you-shit-your-pants from here on out. So at least there’s that.
It’s hard waking up to this hot mess every morning. Also, reason #167 why my friends have the mental health unit on speed dial.
It took 8 days but I finally cried.
Now I’m pissed.
Because I just had to have that divorce or die.
But at least when I grieved for my mother I was able to do it in a strong mans arm.
Now I’m going to die proving I can do everything by myself.
