vendredi 7 août 2009

Moderation is a foreign concept

It's comical, not funny, that I am here right now. Life seems to put me in the same situation over and over again until I learn, but I can't seem to do more than recognize that fact.

I wish someone would come in a tell me what to do and fix all my problems, which is ironic because I really wanted to stand on my own. I sincerely wished for a man who wouldn't challenge me for control, who wouldn't make more money that me and lord it over me... I wished for my husband and got him.

But I was 22 then. What the hell did I know? Couldn't I have wished for an equal? Couldn't I have wished for someone to lean on?

It's almost 3am. I'm sitting on my bright pink davenport in my new house next to my sleeping 9-month old. My stomach is turning from the food I inhaled after being awake so long since the last time I ate. I am procrastinating. I don't want it to be tomorrow. Tomorrow brings more things to do and therefore more things I'm not doing.

I did end up writing alternate lyrics to the song 16 candles to fit my mother's 60th birthday, which I had to do last week. Better late than... oh, who cares. I want beer!

There's nothing worse than waiting for something that never arrives. My husband said he would go and hang out at his brother's for a few hours. He needs to get up early to head to Toronto with our boys to see Toronto FC play Real Madrid, so he said he would come home early.

Staying home tonight with a baby and two exited and exitable boys when I had other plans was not what I hoped for, but I wished him well, asking for beer as a sign of his gratitude.

Guess who got in a half-hour ago with no beer. I fucking hate him right now, but I shouldn't right?

A mother and responsible person should not freak out over beer. But I sort of wanna cry.

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