I feel like writing today, but I don’t know what will end up on this screen if I do. Will it be public info, password protected, or private?.. I’m not sure right now. It’s pouring outside right now; rain is splattered up against our windows and front door. The wind chime I hung outside on our entryway porch is blowing in the breeze and in the rain. It’s one of those days again. I’m starting to feel like the sadness is creeping in again. The lonely, alone, why am I here feeling.
If it weren’t raining so hard I would walk to the shoreline a little over a mile away and just sit there for a while. If California weren’t so far away I would pack up the car and go. I still might go. I have four weeks to spend alone here, but I also feel tied down to this house. Like my happy little prison. I probably will make this private for now, because I can imagine those who read this thinking I’m seriously f*cked up when really I’m just sad because I don’t know how I ended up here. Three point five months pregnant in a state with no friends, in a dying marriage…
How did I end up here? More and more these days I am thinking that I should have just followed the plan. I should have put work before love, a career before a family. But here I am instead, literally barefoot and pregnant, sitting on the couch and staring off into space between writing out these sentences as if the answers to all my life’s questions will just come to me if I’m patient enough, quiet enough.
I know it doesn’t work that way. I know that often times in life, the metaphor that when it rains it pours is oh so true. My husband didn’t even kiss me yesterday. I don’t remember the last time that he did. I don’t remember the last time I felt secure in our relationship, happy, assured that everything would work out okay even if things absolutely sucked at that moment. We need help because we are drowning, or maybe it’s just me.
It can’t be just me.