My husband is watching House in the living room. It's still feels odd to type that - my husband. Can it really be that I have a husband?
I wish I was one of those people who could be happy happy happyeee - just floating through life on a cloud of happy all the time. I've had a little taste, the last month or so, of what it must be like to be one of those people. But the truth is, maybe I'll never be like that. Maybe I'll always have that little chip of sad planted deep inside of me.
It's nights like tonight, when all I want in the world is for B to sweep me up in his arms, like I am his most prized possession, and carry me to bed like he owns me. And to show me how glad he is that I own him. Forever and ever.
But out there he sits, watching tv. And in here I sit, spilling my thoughts to the empty masses, rather than to him. So it's almost like I'm choosing to be sad. Maybe I am. Or maybe I'm just built this way.
It's such a fine line these days.