I continue to blog
for the love, maybe not as much for therapy. I'm remembering that my
journal is a great place for navel-gazing. But I still want to write to
you. I have things to tell you, important things that I've considered carefully while driving
Seven to school, doing the dishes, or watching American
Idol. I'll keep posting here, as much as I can.
--
Last year after Adam
and I separated, in the midst of all the trauma, I felt vaguely enthusiastic about the idea of a fresh start. I believed it was a chance to transform myself, as if I was a butterfly
that could just fly away from our marriage.
After leaving our
relationship, I realise I have only traded sets of problems, and of course I am
still the same neurotic, lazy person. It is humbling to become aware that the
issue wasn’t our relationship, but me.
I was probably overconfident. For example, I
thought I could do everything myself around the house. Cleaning my hair out of the
shower drain isn’t that hard. And I thought I could hire a handyman to do
the really difficult chores, like sweeping the chimney, or removing a wasp nest from the garden shed.
But I find myself increasingly baffled by what I need to do. I don’t know how to change the vacuum cleaner bag because
Adam always did it. I am perplexed when I need to repair the
door of the dryer—should I use glue?
I tend to let housework slide. The house is a mess. The stove and the shower both need cleaned. And I am STILL looking for a cheaper house—my search spurred on because Landlord raised my rent.
Thinking about the money I need to spend week to week makes me panic. My spare energy is directed at finding stable work. All I want is to claw myself out of poverty, put a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies. I am constantly afraid, anxious about the future. Will I be able to get back on my feet? I scold myself for being childish and wallowing, but I worry I have made the wrong choices in life.
I tend to let housework slide. The house is a mess. The stove and the shower both need cleaned. And I am STILL looking for a cheaper house—my search spurred on because Landlord raised my rent.
Thinking about the money I need to spend week to week makes me panic. My spare energy is directed at finding stable work. All I want is to claw myself out of poverty, put a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our bellies. I am constantly afraid, anxious about the future. Will I be able to get back on my feet? I scold myself for being childish and wallowing, but I worry I have made the wrong choices in life.
I don't want sympathy
or encouragement. I am just trying to say that I am still here if you want to keep reading. And I am OK. I am not beaten. I know I will get through this. Tomorrow is another day.