Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
Yes, after 11 years total and three years of marriage, hubby and I are taking a break for the year. We just moved into separate places. It’s horrible and sad and yet, our discussions were all enveloped in an abundance of love and affection. That’s how awesome we were together. Even during a trial separation, we never once fought. Our conversations were honest and sweet. There are so many reasons why this is happening, but we both support and love each other immensely still.
More on the details of the break and all it’s underlying issue later. For right now, I just want to let my fingers fly. I moved on January 25. So I’ve had my own place for just shy of a month. The place is so incredibly fantastic, that it makes me feel like we made the right move. Like the universe is telling me that this awesome place, sunny and gorgeous and different than just some silly apartment, nestled amongst greenery and a garden, in a lovely little single family lot, in a safe place, only a minute away from our old place so I get to remain in our so-fantastic-it’s-newsworthy neighborhood…is exactly where I need to be right now. In fact, I realized yesterday that every time I lay my head down at night, I am happy.
You see. I never lived on my own. I went from taking care of my mom, to a sort time living with roommates, to essentially taking care of my hubby. We got serious too soon, we moved in too soon, and, as my love language demands, I fell into the role of caretaker too soon. I showered him with meals (home cooked practically every night for all the time we were together), and giggles, and love and activities, and was ok being the breadwinner (with very little bread being won) for a really long time. But again, more on the details of the break later.
So now here I am. And honestly, this shit is lonely. I thought I’d be super busy and going out and having tons of fun. But I forgot that most of my friends come in packages of two. And these days, it’s packages of three or more, with tiny, round, new little packages recently added on, that make my ovaries throw fits.
I’m worried. I’m 31 years old. I spent my entire twenties building a relationship. When I think of growing old, I want him to be on the porch swing with me. When I think of having kids, I want him to be the amazing father that I know he will be. But in the meantime, there is time in between. And bringing kids into a situation where we both know we’re a little unhappy (after thinking we were ok because in so many ways, things were SOOO good), would not be smart.
And so, we divide and attempt to conquer.
My girlfriend has given me her entire collection of Sex and the City as well as the Fifty Shades Trilogy. I have never seen/read either.
All I have to say about the former is “holy shit,” “*gasp,*” followed by unknowingly covering up what little cleavage I’m showing, even though there is no one around me to see it. There may be some blushing going on, too.
About the former…it’s funny. Even in this short amount of time, I find myself relating to EVERYTHING Carrie and her band of sisters deal with. Now I see why the show was so popular. They are reading my mind. Just like they probably read everyone else’s.
And I’m even sitting here on my couch, with my laptop balanced on a pillow, eating yogurt (too early for ice cream) and letting my inner voice fuel my fingers as they abuse this keyboard, contemplating love and sex, just like the classy Ms. Bradshaw. Cheesy? Yes! But really, I don’t care. I’m amazed at how my feelings are so accurately described. And even more amazed at how so many of us feel the same way, and yet we can never find anyone that has it figured out. You’d think we’d learn from each other by now.
I’m trying to love me. But I can’t because I feel too damn alone right now.
I want passionate times AND quickies. I want a little aggressiveness but I want to be showered with sugar. I want success on numerous fronts. Is that too fucking much to ask?