Oops

I don’t want to succumb to the feelings about wanting to be sucked into a portal where none of this ever happened. I never happened. 

But shunting myself to the periphery feels attractive. Doing the work so I can have some time to call my own. And say, “I fucking deserve this.” 

I also need it. But do I DESERVE it?

At Ichiban waiting for an order. And its been a slow night. But lots of time for thinking. 

I just don’t know what to do. Writ large. 

There’s nothing to be done. Until after the Summer, anyway. I thought sobriety might help. But our daughter’s birthday was on Sunday. 

We’d discussed it. He wasn’t sober. And the day prior he’d even clarified that I didn’t mean weed - I meant alcohol.

And he was slurring at the end of a three hour party. And couldn’t drive home.

I’m just irritated. It would have been better to just pour the rest of the

I’m driving tonight (my last night driving; he had a point there), and he texts in the middle to ask if I’d shoved something weird down the garbage disposal.

…no? I was the one who fixed it last time? Maybe one of the kids shoved something down it.

That was Monday. This is Thursday. After all these years my dad is still having conversations with my husband about being disappointed that he is not able to "guide me" to make the right decisions.

The sun is still fucking off behind a cloud. It feels like the Silent Hill summer of 20...whenever that was. 19? Heavy, oppressive. We still need to get outside, though. 

Lots of moments that feel like they're from a film. Driving down Martin Luther King, Jr. Avenue with three kids going nuts in the car with me while "2 A.M. (Breathe)" blasts in the car. 

Maybe I should be back on medication.

Maybe I should just strong-arm myself for the gym. For the happy chemicals.

Maybe I should just breathe.

It's nice that we're talking more, and I'm sure it needed to happen. Crying needs to happen. I just don't know if I can hold all of the parts of my reality simultaneously. My brain melts a little. And being woken up by S telling me, "I dreamed you left me for a woman on a train." and then angrily outlining why he thinks his subconscious threw all that together. 

It's not the first time he's had that dream. Or a partner's had that dream.

As it stands I've never even had a relationship with a woman.

But that's neither here nor there. The dream was where the conversation about not being able to change my mind when my "mind's made up" or I "get an idea in my head". 

I couldn't get it together to say then, but I probably will tonight: first of all - that's true. Second of all, with the specific examples listed by the prosecution: overbooking myself tends to happen when I experience insecurity of any type. It's a little bit of fight or flight (or work three jobs) and from the outside looking in, it definitely looks like a Coen brothers type of thing.

But there is a sequence of events and reactions that lead me to the places I go. I think.