Unhappy Anniversary


My boyfriend and I don’t celebrate our anniversary. We call the event the contract renewal, and we sit down and negotiate the conditions for the next year and go over follies in the year past, and hash shit out for the betterment of our relationship. Our contract renewal is coming up, and I am not so sure I want to renew again for another year. This might be the first time I throw in the towel, ever. I’m not happy. He’s not happy. I’m not happy with him. He’s not happy with his job and how his life turned out. I know he holds some sort of resentment towards me for not being able to have his children (thanks, cancer). I know he has a wandering eye, based on the things I spied in his inbox when he had me delete his Facebook account. I think he feels obligated to me for some reason, and I don’t want to continue to live my life as an obligation. He’s handsome, smart, and funny. He does have awkward social skills but if he stalks a girl with low enough self-esteem he could totally find someone to have his babies. As for me, I think I will be single for a while. I haven’t been single since I was fifteen years old. Half my life! I don’t even know who I am, only who I am as 50% of a couple. And it’s scary, the thought of having to move back in to my parent’s house and start all over in middle age. Of course, there are things he could agree to in order to get me to renegotiate for another year. If he’d show me physical affection I might stay. If he showed me respect and love, and gave me sex more often than twice a month, I would stay. If he told me in his own words that it was ok that I can’t have his babies, I would stay. If he showed any interest in my life, I would stay. He doesn’t even know I have this secret online journal, although I have dropped hints as obvious as sending him a link to it. Nothing. The man has no interest in my life and it’s fucking frustrating. I feel like I am the one to initiate sex. Sex, to me, keeps a couple close. It’s nice to feel desired. If I had a nickel for every time I wished he would give me a compliment, we could retire today. If I had a nickel for every compliment I have actually received from him, I could buy a new eye shadow. I feel underappreciated and overlooked. I’m reaching the point of desperation. I’m afraid the whole “any attention is good attention” thing is going to creep into my psyche and that’s when things become dangerous. I’ve been thinking about it, and I know there’s something desperately wrong with our relationship. Any man could come by and show me the proper attention, and I risk eating out of his hand. I’m in a very delicate place right now, a place I don’t want to be. I want to be with my boyfriend, having sex, laughing, smoking weed, watching horrible movies, taking in burlesque shows, going to the comedy club like we used to. Now we sit here, him in his recliner and me on the couch. Him drinking his beer and me typing away, venting my frustrations in a way he doesn’t even validate. When he went astray, it really through a rod right through the engine block of our relationship. I want him to try to win me back, but he won’t. He sits in a perpetual state of numbness, from a combination of the beer and the bad TV he watches, and ignores me. I quit bitching about it 10 years ago. Bitching got me nowhere, and with me keeping my big trap shut I guess it makes life slightly more pleasant. But it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I want to spit my demands at him, command him to notice and worship me or someone else will. But I am not that type of girl. I have an image to maintain, and that includes the drama free relaxed girl-bro that everyone can talk to. He fills me with self-doubt. I don’t know what I did to drive him away. We used to be so close, now we’re just sitting in the same room out of obligation to one another, not because it is what makes us happy. I want to be happy with him. We have so much history, have shared so many laughs and good times, and made a million memories together. But when he went astray, it all stopped. My heart broke, and he has made no effort to try to help sew the thing back up and put it back where it belongs. Still on the floor, in a million pieces, walking around it like tiptoeing around broken glass. I so desperately want him to want me. I so desperately want anyone to want me. I just want to feel needed, loved, cared for. Now, with him, I feel broken and frustrated and alone, even though we are in the same room. Maybe I expect too much from him. Maybe I put too much pressure on the poor man that he doesn’t know how to react so he just shuts down, leaving me essentially alone in a horror film called life. I don’t know. I have about a month to come up with my part of the negotiations, and we’ll see how it goes from there. I love him enough that I want him to be happy, even if that happy life doesn’t include me in it. I just want to be happy, and to be desired, loved, worshipped, cherished, and regarded as one of life’s blessings, not a burden. Ah, the misery known as life. As always, thank you for reading my secret diary.

A White Lie?


I pride myself on an honest person, but today I made the conscious decision to start lying. Now, before I lose you as a reader hear me out. I’ve been sick, for a while now, and people are starting to get worried. It’s a chronic inflammatory disease, and instead of being honest about how I am actually feeling I choose to lie through my teeth and tell everyone I feel fine.

It goes against every principal in my body, but what else am I supposed to do? I mean, my mother was crying and I am sure the boyfriend is sick of hearing “I can’t eat that, my belly will hurt.” So I am going to start lying. Sure, my swollen knuckles might give it away. So might me throwing up involuntarily after every meal. The weight loss is going to give it away, the most obvious of all. But in today’s society, people won’t think I am sick, they’ll tell me I am looking great. And it is nice to fit into all the clothes I held onto for so long. I’m roughly the size I was my senior year of high school, and I think flare jeans are coming back into fashion again. Haha, yes, I am giving clues to my real age.

I’ve been thinking for a couple of days about the repercussions of the falsehoods I am starting to tell. It won’t hurt anyone to think I am not ill. I am not manipulating anyone. Nobody will find out unless they have extremely astute observation techniques. Anyone who puts themselves in my shoes for a moment would see the validity behind the lie that I feel fine. It’s not going to lead to bigger lies. It’s the only lie I am granting myself permission to tell. But, when all is said and done, it is still a lie. That’s the part I am having trouble with justifying.

People lie all the time. It’s not an uncommon occurrence. People lie about big things, like miscarriages and infidelity. I just want people to stop worrying about my insides. It’s to spare feelings, stave off questions with embarrassing answers, and maybe if I repeat the words “I feel fine” over and over, I will actually start to feel fine and the lie wouldn’t be a lie anymore.

I’m grappling with the ethics of this social experiment. What harm could come from a little white lie? It’s not like I am faking a pregnancy, or having an affair, or even taking a role in any sketchy grey market deals. I just want people to stop worrying about me. I don’t want to be the topic of conversation. I don’t want to be the center of any attention. I just want to be left alone, and to feel better. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner that needs eaten and kept down. As always, thanks for reading.

A Peek Into My Soul


I want to feel pretty. I want to feel loved. I want what every human wants: to be accepted for who I am, not judged for who I am not. It’s a struggle, with body and mind and self-acceptance. We are our own worst critics, and I know I am my own worst enemy. I set myself up for failure. I sabotage myself on a daily basis, or so it seems.

Living with an autoimmune system problem, it seems as if my own body is out to get me sometimes. And in reality, it is. It cripples me and limits my ability to live life like a normal person. I’m on a biologic medication, which gives me the immune system of an unvaccinated infant. It’s a scary feeling when you know the common flu could kill you. But on the other hand, if you don’t take this medication, your own body will kill you. Yeah, I don’t like it. But I deal with it, it is my struggle to bear, and I like to think I handle it with grace and dignity. I do so well people forget I am “sick” so I must be doing something right.

When I was a child, I was a social outcast. (Still am, but that is by choice. Punk rock!) Nobody liked to play with the kid the size of a grown up. Nobody liked the kid who was the smartest in the class. Nobody likes the awkward, shy, quiet girl in the back of the room longing for acceptance. My mother was abusive towards me. She was high on crank. She would rub my nose in the wet sheets if I wet the bed. She would beat me for making too much noise putting groceries away. And at age twelve, when I stood up to her and took the daily paddle away from her, she doubled up her fist and started punching me in the face. It was hell, walking on eggshells in the house, never knowing what I could say or do to set her off and have her punch me.

I also would lay awake at night, bearing the world’s guilt upon my consciousness. I cried, for all the kids being abused. I cried for all the people who lost their homes or lives due to natural disasters. I mourned the loss of my own childhood, which ended young with a cousin touching me in inappropriate places at a very young age. I thought all moms were mean and all kids got beat. I thought all dads were ignorant to what was going on and that yelling over the dinner table was a normal occurrence. I thought a lot of things, lying there all night contemplating life and death.

The concept of suicide hit me when I was 8. I saw it on a movie, and did research on it at the public library. I had a plan… I just had to find one of mom’s razor blades. I was going to take a bunch of aspirin and slit my wrists in the bathtub, so I wouldn’t make a mess for mom to be mad about. At eight years old, I had a suicide plan.

I was diagnosed as schizophrenic at the age of 23. Along with bipolar disorder and the never ending list of autoimmune disorders, I found out I was crazy. It would explain the guilt and perpetual self-hatred I had been burdened with my whole life. It made a lot of things make sense. In college, I did deep research on schizophrenia and other mental illnesses; psychology was my major. I’m pretty sure my mental problems come from nature passed down through genetics, but also nurture. It probably came from a place of self-preservation, in response to the overwhelming issues I had to deal with at such a young age.

I have been through counseling and I have done a lot of healing and forgiving. My mom got off dope (so did dad) my senior year of high school. My mom also got help for her own mental issues. The older cousin who sexually misappropriated me is doing life in prison for murder, I know he’ll never touch another little girl ever again and that there’s a special place in hell for pedophiles. I have a boyfriend who says he loves me. I have a good relationship with most of my family. There’s food in the cupboards and the bills are somehow getting paid. Life for me is pretty good right now; I don’t want to jinx it by bragging.

I just wish there was some way I could learn to love myself the way I deserve to be loved. Nobody has ever shown me what love really means, what love is, what unconditional acceptance feels like. I’m still that scared child walking on broken glass. I’m damaged goods, and I accept that about myself, but I don’t know how to love myself. Internet research says to make time for myself, so I do a spa day once a week, where I paint my nails and do girly shit all day. I can say I have pretty nails but I don’t feel it. I can have a good hair day or wear a pair of killer jeans and I still feel that sense of self-loathing that never seems to go away.

I blame myself. There’s no one else to blame, and only I can own up to my own fallacies. It doesn’t help that I beat myself up about it daily. But honestly, between you, me, and the internet, writing about it on this secret online journal helps. I feel like a weight has been lifted. Nobody in my family, circle of friends, or even casual acquaintances know I have a secret online journal. I am free to write about anything I choose and today for some reason, I chose to write about this. And it helped.

I’m not looking for pity. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. Everything I have gone through has made me who I am, and I wouldn’t change a thing if I had to do it all over again. I just wish I could learn to be a little less strict with myself, that I could let loose and let go and have the capacity to love myself and accept that things are the way they’re supposed to be. I’m tired of letting myself down.

Thank you for reading. You have been blessed, peeking into someone’s soul, my soul, a closely guarded soul that always has walls up and I have shared things today that it would take lifetimes of gumption to share with people in my life. And I have been blessed with this outlet of energy.



I have low self-esteem. Which is odd, as I am entering middle age and haven’t had a problem with my self-esteem since my late teens. I find myself doubting and second guessing myself over every little detail. I’m on pins and needles, and it’s all because of an incident that I had no control over. I’m falling apart and I don’t know what to do. I’m entering middle age, I don’t have kids, I have never been married, and my career has come to a complete halt. My friends all have at least one thing that I don’t. They are dropping off like flies on a cold evening… a pregnancy here, another wedding there, relatives questioning me as to when I am going to settle down and start a family. That’s a lot of fucking pressure. I chopped my hair off. Literally, 29 inches gone. I bleached it afterwards too. And I think it looks fabulous. I have lost 40 pounds so far this year, but on a six foot frame it isn’t very noticeable, only two dress sizes. I’m doing my best and succeeding at looking my best every day, with a hairstyle, makeup, and wardrobe. I’m being friendly and flirty and outgoing. And between you, me, and the internet, it seems to be working in reverse. People are avoiding me like I am some sort of lonely, middle age plague. The party dates have turned into play dates that don’t include me. Double dates have turned into Friday nights alone with the boyfriend and a bottle of wine, with him watching tv and me reading a book. His middle age is showing too, with a lack of sex drive and lack of empathy towards our relationship. Going out has turned into staying in, fancy dinners have turned into microwave meals, and everyone I know is more apt to not invite us over because we don’t have children. My mother made me watch a live birth at 14 from the best angle in the room. I vowed that day that I would never, ever give birth. No way was I going to put my body through that. And when I met my current boyfriend, he agreed that he didn’t want children either, so that was that. Then at the age of 27 I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Obviously I survived, but that is when people started drifting away. I mean, what is one supposed to say to their friend fighting cancer? And as I made my comeback, everyone started popping children out at breakneck speed. Then there were the weddings, the dozens and dozens of white dresses and rented tuxedos in venues that cost probably more than I make in a year. I feel left out. If I could have children, I still wouldn’t. But my former friends and colleagues need to understand that I do have a censor, I can behave myself around children, and just because I chose to live a life for me. And so far, this life is not going how I expected it to go. See, I wanted to travel and write. I wanted to drink and experience drugs, and I wanted to have good stories to tell in the nursing home. But none of that is really happening. I mean, I do travel. Just not as far or as long as I had hoped for; I long for international travel and mystery. I guess I can settle for Seattle and a mystery novel. I long for torrid love affairs and romance; I guess I can settle for a lackluster boyfriend who doesn’t love me enough to marry me. And as for kids, everyone keeps them away from me and I don’t know why. Is it because I swear? Drink? Smoke? Like I said, I can withhold and censor myself. I just feel so… there is no word for what I have been feeling. Forgotten, shunned, ostracized, ignored, and avoided are some words that come to mind but none of them quite fit the bill. If my boyfriend was still into me, maybe that would change how I feel. If my friends still found my friendship useful or me amusing, perhaps my feelings about myself would be better. You know what? Fuck that. I don’t need outside opinion and validation to change how I feel inside. I am a great person with a warm personality and a kind heart. I am one in a billion. My mind holds interesting and creative passions, my knowledge is deep and wide, and my words come together like two dancers skating across the ice in formation.  I am worthwhile of people’s time and attention; I just have been looking in the wrong places for validation. The only validation I need is my own. If I don’t like my situation, I should change it. Only I control my future and only I know what I can and cannot tolerate. I’m torturing my own soul and for no good reason. Maybe my trying too hard is what has been pushing people away (although I have been recently informed it is my lack of drama and unwillingness to gossip that makes me unrelatable.) So you know what? Fuck this shit. I’m changing things.

A Year Out And Still Confused…. A Secret Blog

I’ve been patient and I’ve been kind. I just can’t believe it’s been almost 6 months since I found out about the infidelity. Most days it’s the furthest thing from my mind anymore. But for some reason, this cold, rainy day has me lamenting on the past and again my insecurities have started creeping up my spine. Best to write about it rather than stew on it and pick a fight when he comes home.

I still feel as if I am to blame for him going astray. If I had done this differently, or that somehow came out different, would he have cheated? What did I do to drive him away? I just don’t know. I’m a bad ass bitch (at the risk of sounding conceited) and I am down for whatever, whenever. He had no wants left undone in the bedroom. His house was clean, he was fed, and he goes out of town specifically to have an affair behind me back. On a trip that I was excited he got to go on. I just feel so…. Unworthy? Is that the proper word for the emotion I feel?

I realize I am still mad about it. Mad at myself, mad at him, mad that all of our trust and innocence was lost. It was the end of the best era of our 18 years to date. And it’s eating me up, today especially. Why can’t I have the perfect relationship everyone sees us as having? It isn’t fair. But life isn’t fair, and I am left reeling from everything that has happened.

I have been self-medicating. I drink too much, every night. I am numbing myself enough to be in the same room without going into hysterics for something that happened a year ago. I wish he would have never asked me to delete his facebook, I wish I had never logged on to his email and saw the exchanges. Ignorance really would have been bliss. Now I’m a lush who smokes too much weed and takes more pills than is prescribed, just trying to keep myself numb. It’s 3 in the afternoon, and I want to start on my wine bottle early. Excuse me while I grab a glass.

So I tested negative on the screening for all the STD’s in the book. I was relieved to find it was just a bladder infection. But lately he’s gone back to being secretive with his internet usage, and he hasn’t initiated sex in months. No, we’ve been having sex, when I ask nicely he does give in. But he’s pulling away again and it frightens the hell out of me. And it seems like nothing I can do will bring us back again. I suggested counseling, even giving him a list of sliding scale marital counseling. I’ve told him that I am committed to making things between us work under any circumstance, and now I wonder if he took that as permission to cheat. I just don’t know anymore.

It’s not like I have anywhere to go. My income is roughly 8,000 to 10,000 a year; hardly enough to even rent a room somewhere. I would literally be living in a shelter. And shelters are sober living environments, so I couldn’t have booze or weed. And I’ve heard horror stories about rape, theft, violence, and all sorts of things. I don’t have children, so I can’t go to the safe houses or anywhere like that. I don’t want to ask my family for help, they are all paycheck to paycheck too. Nobody has a spare room for me. I’m literally stuck in this downward spiral of self-destruction.

I am sure he’s noticed it, but he hasn’t said anything. His house is still cleaned and I still suck his dick so apparently life is good. I cry all day while he works his ass off. I tell him I appreciate him. I let him know I love him. I just think this whole infidelity thing has pushed me into a corner filled with self-doubt and self-hatred. I don’t know who or how to ask for help without opening Pandora’s Box about all the demons in our closet. I know it sounds vain, but I don’t want to be seen as weak or helpless but that is exactly what I am. Weak and helpless. How do I open the lines of communication with someone who is slipping away from me again? How do I survive if I decide I can’t go on with this charade? How do I start over from scratch without the person who has been my best friend and lover more than half my life?

I’m desperate. I’m scared and lonely. I hate the place my head and heart is in today. How long will this last? I was told by the one person I have told in real life that the feelings of doubt and uncertainty never really go away. Am I to spend the rest of my days with this internal battle of guilt and shame? I want so desperately to communicate with him, to be at peace and to be happy again. But every time I bring it up he redirects the conversation or I get overwhelmed with emotion and all I do is sit there and silently cry.

Part of me hopes he will find this secret blog and read about how I feel, uninterrupted and unable to steer the conversation away from where I was going with it. I just don’t know…. I just… don’t know. I am unsure of everything and I can’t believe in anything anymore. I’m mad he stole that from me, and I don’t know what to do to fix this debacle. Thanks for listening, or more accurately, reading.

Change is Coming Soon, Now is My Time

1 change

I’m scared. There are things in this universe that have bigger plans for me. And I don’t know what that means for my future. Everyone’s future is unsure, and I know I am arrogant for writing on this topic, but the pull of the gravity is too strong to deny. There is a static in the air, an electricity field too strong to deny its existence.

I don’t know if it will be good or if it will be bad. That is what has me frightened. Life has been going too smooth for a shakeup not to happen. As many gather in Black Rock City, I am having my own burning man this weekend. I am curious, I want to know. I wish my clairvoyance was stronger so I can hear what the fates are whispering on the winds. I can almost hear their voices, but I can’t make out more than a tone here and there.

My body is not ready for this challenge. I’ve been fasting, from dawn til dusk, all month long. My blood work states my blood cells are in overdrive, both white and red. My body is sleep deprived, over thought, under stimulated, and plain wore out. I don’t know why, but I should have been more observant and known that the winds of change always strike when I am at my weakest.

I can’t force it. I can’t make it come any quicker than it’s trajectory plans for it. I have no way of knowing when and where it will strike. I don’t know what will strike. But something is coming. Something big. Something profound and remarkable. And it is going to channel through me. Am I ready? No. Am I willing? Yes. We shall see what the paradigm shift shall have in store for me and my future.

I Thought I Could Deal, I Guess I Can’t

It’s been a while. I’ve not been on top of my game. I have been living in my head, letting insecurities eat at me and beating myself up for not standing my ground. I feel an omniscient feeling that something I did led to his behavior. Had I been more sexually available, would it have happened? Had I been more mentally present, expected less, put less pressure on him, would it have happened? All these feelings of doubt and wonder penetrate my thoughts and mess with my concentration.

My house is in shambles. I haven’t plucked my eyebrows in weeks. I have been so depressed and self absorbed that I have had trouble looking at the bigger picture. Today, as I write this, I will be looking at the bigger picture. I am not the first woman to have her trust broken, nor am I the only woman to have her heart broken. I am not the first to try to overlook the trust issues, with limited success and failure rates. I am not the first woman to feel like this man is driving me to the edge of insanity. But if I am not alone, why do I feel so all alone?

I have limited options. Being a “kept woman” has prevented me from working, paying bills, holding my own household down, being a responsible adult. Thank god I have no children to drag into this equation. I can always leave and go live in a shelter, until I get on my feet. Living with a friend or family member just won’t hack it in this situation. I don’t want them to know, and if it happens after a decade and a half there will be questions. Questions I don’t want to answer. Questions I don’t have answers to answer.

I can stay and live out my life in a constant state of fear like an abused dog. No, he doesn’t hit me, but sometimes with his words I would rather him hit me, it would be easier to accept and heal those wounds than the wounds of my soul. I feel like I am walking on eggshells, under constant scruitiny that something I have said or did might trigger him again. I fear him and the control he has over me. It’s not fun living in a perpetual state of fear.

I cannot get housing assistance, as I do not have children. I have an addiction problem, I like to hit the bottle and the pipe, and the shelters don’t tolerate that at all. But he not only tolerates it, he encourages it. I will be expected to drink with him when he gets home from work. I will be expected to share that bowl before bed. And I will do it willingly, as it helps numb the pain from traumas past and present.

I don’t know what to do with myself. Three decades into my life and I am trapped. I am dependent on a man who mentally and emotionally abuses me. I can’t get help because I don’t have children. I can’t even fathom where to start on my own. I keep trying to convince myself that it is okay, that I love him. I do love him. And today, I am not okay. But I will do nothing about it because I don’t know what to do about it. Sigh. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.

Trust, A Poem


I wonder how you can live with yourself sometimes,
Breaking my trust time and time again.
Used to think you were the fool in this whole shindig.
I realize now that I have been the fool the whole time.

Lie after lie, misleading me, twisting my words
All of these constitute forms of abuse.
You have abused me.
How do you feel about that one?

Take a step back and look at the whole picture.
You complain again that you got the short end of the stick.
I laugh, because I have stepped back and looked.
I am the fool, a fool who happens to love you.

Don’t think for a moment I wouldn’t hesitate
To leave this situation. You wonder why I stay.
I wonder why I stay sometimes too.

It hasn’t been all misery; the joys far outnumber the lies.
Unless those were lies too, but I doubt it.
You make me laugh, you make me smile,
Daily you surprise me with what comes out of your mouth.

I guess you can say I am just tired of being misled.
You promised you wouldn’t anymore, that things would change.
Nothing has really changed. Except my comfort level.
I feel like I am constantly walking on glass when you’re in a mood.

Why is love so fickle and sly? You have my heart.
What you do with it is up to you.
I do wish you’d love me the way I want to be loved.
I love you the way I want to be loved- unconditionally.

My trust is broken, and nothing we can do can fix it.
I’ve told you what I need from you;
You told me what you need from me.
Why can’t our needs be met, spelled out so rigidly?

I choose to believe in the best. I believe in you,
I just have troubles believing your actions match your words.
Things will never be the same, and I don’t want counseling.
I want what we had. I want what we could have.

I don’t want what we have now. Communicate! It’s all I ask.
I love you enough to want you to be happy,
With me or your dream girl or whomever you wish.
But I hope you pick me.

A Roadtrip, and My Reservations

So I am leaving town for a week, and this is taking a huge leap of faith in my relationship with the boyfriend. If you haven’t been following, or this is your first visit, he participated in a major disappointment that almost ended our relationship. I don’t feel like revisiting the past and hashing out the details, but let’s just leave it at I am wary of my solo trip across the country and leaving him alone. It is taking everything within me not to let negative thoughts or feelings consume me.

I’m trying to put good faith forward, and believe in him when he says nothing like that will ever happen again. With the wounds still fresh, I pack my bags and am going to drive twelve hundred miles by myself, on a mission for myself. I need to spend some time with my best friend, who recently relocated to Seattle. I’m excited, as I do love the open road with all my heart. I have a gypsy soul and I long for the trip, and I will do well on my trip like I always have in the past. Only this time there is doubt that lingers in the back of my mind.

He was looking for outside validation, and I fear he will continue to look for outside validation in my absence. My worries are well founded, and I do plan on checking craigslist every night that I am gone, looking for his posts that I truly hope will not be there. I hate not trusting my heart to this man I once trusted with every ounce of my being. But in retrospect, I had put him on a pedestal and worshipped him like he could do no wrong. Since then, I realize he is human with all his fallacies, and to damn him for that would be hyper-hypocritical.

But my trip is overshadowing any doubts I may carry with me about this situation. I’m excited beyond words- I have never been to Seattle, and I get to spend almost a whole week with my best friend. She has been my best friend for twelve years; we met in college and have been besties since. I don’t like many people or have respect for even less, but I have massive amounts of respect and platonic love for this woman. I have watched her grow and blossom into a beautiful creature, both inside and out. She has had issues with me, and we have had a fair spat or two, but I love her even more for being able to be honest with me. Sometimes I feel as if she is the only one willing to be honest with me.

We’re doing the Fourth of July thing in a small mountain town called Snoqualmie, and then we’re heading to the beach for some fun on the sand. Or rocks. I don’t even know what the coastline of Washington looks like. But I am going to find out. I just hope my paranoia about what may or may not be going on at home doesn’t cast a shadow over my adventures.

I decided I am choosing to have faith in the boyfriend. I choose to believe him, and I choose to put whatever might happen in the hands of a higher power. He knows the consequences of what would happen, and he knows I would rather him be honest with me instead of going behind my back. I love this man; I have loved this man for half my life. I just want him to be happy, with me or with someone else. All I ask for is honesty and respect. I think he gets it.

Tonight, a young cousin of mine is coming to stay the night. I don’t know her very well, but she pleaded with me to be a part of her life, and she invited herself to stay the night. It should be interesting. She fancies herself a witch, and is really into the paranormal. Which I am also into the paranormal, but I don’t fancy myself a witch. I am strictly agnostic. I believe in a higher power, but I don’t personify it or worship it. I respect it. We are going to share a glass of wine and have deep theological conversations. I’d lie if I said I wasn’t curious as to how this will turn out. I get to be her taxi, she lives 45 miles away. I pick her up from work at 8:30. This is bound to be interesting.

I woke up at five this morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed. For no reason whatsoever. So I believe a nap is in order before any logical late night conversations, and especially before wine. Alcohol makes me soooo sleepy, and I need to have my wits about me to keep up with her fresh mind. She doesn’t really know many people from her grandfather’s side of the family, and she chose me to get to know. I hope she’s a realist and can accept me for who I am.

Well, the laundry is done, and needs to be folded, so I best get on that chore. But I do want to thank you for reading.