April 27, 2017
Goodbye is the end. Start with hello.
May 11, 2017
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Hold on to your hats…

I think I must look a lot different to myself than the rest of the world. I mean I know I could never be Miss America but I don’t think I’m terrible to look at. Ok, I admit, I’m overdue for a haircut. And I need to lose a few pounds. (It’s sad that I’m thinking about this, right? Like why should I give a fuck?) I guess I feel like I’m failing as a mother and as a wife. I don’t have a bedtime. I never wear pajamas. And sometimes I forget to brush my teeth. I sound like a real winner, don’t I? When did I stop taking care of myself? Holy shit. This is not the example I want to set for my kid. I need to take care of myself, too, so I can be there for him. My poor husband. He hates me all the time. We’ve been bickering often.

The latest was our Sunday fiasco…

May 9, 2017, 12:43 pm: Well this Sunday fun day started off with a bang. And not the good kind.

That was my journal entry. I’m just gonna leave it at that and fast forward through the next 19 hours… Boat. Beach. Beer. Lots of beer. Boat. Restaurant. Boat. Home. Sex. Work. Fall asleep on couch. Bed.

We ended up making up, but not really.

He said something that really hurt. He said, “I don’t know why we can’t have a conversation like a normal fucking family.”
As if there’s such a thing. Who is he comparing us to? The Huxtables? They were feel-good, but what a total crock of shit. No one is that happy, are they?
Our arguments usually escalate quickly because we both have claws (Cancer and Scorpio if you believe in it) so sometimes we need to scurry back to our own corners, even if it means going to bed angry. Gasp! How dare we right? It’s what everything you’ll ever read tells you not to do, but believe me, it’s better than someone getting pinched (in our case anyway).
We’re still gonna end up fighting. The storm’s a’brewin.

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