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Honey is Sweet I don't want to want what I want - 2007-01-05 I'm grateful for: editing; cheese on saltine crackers; Zechy reading P.G. Wodehouse aloud to me. I started to write one of my usual too long, whiny entries, all full of John and Neil and the soup I made and whatnot. I don't want to do that. I don't want to want what I don't/can't have. I don't want to want John to be any different than he is. As long as he is as he is, I don't want to live in the same house with him, but that is something entirely different. I don't want to want people and things which I've spent my whole life wanting and crying over. I don't want to feel dead inside. I don't want to hurt any more over the things I've never had and, it appears, am never going to have. I want to get that stupid song Passionate Kisses out of my head. Clearly I AM going overboard to want all of that stuff; all it does is make me unhappy thinking about it. I want to not say hateful things to my husband - no matter what he is and does. Even when I try not to, they still make it out of my mouth. Who and what he is shines through clearly enough I don't need to keep telling him and everyone else about it. I know I have to concentrate on changing my behaviour and not theirs (Neil's and John's). So can I please stop fantasizing about them acting differently and then being even more discontent? I want peace and content in my heart, in my soul. I know I've had something like it, at least once before. Where and how did I lose it, and what steps do I have to take to try and get it back again? I want some kind of definitive proof that I did and am doing an okay job as a mother - just because I'm tired of wondering and worrying. I really do believe that I am, I guess. I just worry. I'm afraid if I was totally screwing up, how would I know? So I guess that's the rather large nutshell tonight. John is sleeping on the sofa. I really couldn't face a night with him tonight. You know what I really hate the most? I sit in my room crying, crying quietly as much as possible so that no one will hear. It's not that I'm ashamed or don't want anyone to hear, it's that I can't bear the thought of Neil or John hearing my crying, and doing the worse than nothing that they do. I don't want my kids to hear me crying - they've certainly heard enough of that. And they do try to give me hugs and show me that they care - sometimes that just makes it feel worse, you know? My kids comforting me instead of the other way 'round. How fucking pathetic. And when will I ever stop crying? I really want that someone should hear me crying, and come in and put his/her arms around me and ask me what's wrong and just hold me and tell me everything will be all right, and that he/she loves me. And I don't want to want that anymore. It hurts too damn much. When I think about that, it makes it a cold, lonely world. When I don't think about it, when I think about my wonderful children, and my new home, and space heaters and chickens and jigsaw puzzles and candy and my friends and down comforters and colourful paintings and Calvin & Hobbes and photographs and knitting and kittens and the Toyota Prius I used to have and our cabin in Vermont and apple-cherry juice and pizza puffs and popcorn with real butter and audio tapes and, well, it's not so cold and lonely a place after all. Okay, so everyone has the occasional dark night when things feel bleak and the blessings seem less, and further away. Why do I have to have so many of them? *sigh* I'm going to try and get some sleep, I guess. Or something. It's after midnight, and I don't seem to be making any progress here. One day at a time, one step at a time, when does it get better? I mean, I believe that it does, but when? I'm listening to nothing much. I can't even hear John snoring if he is. And that is a beautiful thing. 0 bleats so far:: Yesterdays : Tomorrows ::
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