January 17, 2013: Tainted Love.
Yep, already. Well, I suppose it’s delayed really, I mean the cards, candy, all that other hooey was out the day after Christmas.
But I was looking for a birthday card, and all those mushy, lovey little epitaphs in the name of a martyr were there, just staring at me with their little red and pink envelopes cloaking them in loving embrace. Ok not really. But they were pretty glaringly sitting there on prominent display. Of course I got sucked in. I was a florist for over a decade, Valentines day is D-Day at any shop. I had to look at what was up for this year.
Then I found them, adorable fuzzy little felted cards, bears, and frogs, and hearts, and you name it, and not childishly done either. These were meant to be savored. Sure the sentiments inside were generic, but the ‘cards’ them selves, they were something special to behold. I got a little misty eyed. In the damn grocery store. At 9:30 at night.
I know, I suck. I shouldn’t do this to myself. Alright, maybe I don’t suck, but I am definitely a sucker.
February 27, 2012 – Three sides to a story.
The sad, sappy part:
Apologies for being quiet lately. The sailor came home for a much needed, much too short, visit. While I loved having him here, as our time together dwindled, the quieter we both got. Crying during intercourse is not sexy. Asking your husband to hold you at night while you cry isn’t a highlight either.
I usually try to hold in my tears. I typically do not cry for or about anything, I fear he has ruined me. He is the only reason I shed tears. He has told me I can stop apologizing for them, but as I’ve said before, I feel bad sharing them with him.
It hurts me to hear him talk about being miserable, depressed, and sad. I told him I started this blog, not where it was or even what name it was under, I told him that sharing my feelings and thoughts, even with random strangers, helped me sleep at night. Trust me, some nights, it does.
The cranky, venting part:
I had a friend, the kind of friend that only has you to vent to when shit is hitting the fan, the kind that you can never get a word in edge wise even if you really wanted to, the kind that it’s her world and you just live in it, ask me a pretty dumb question recently.
Sailor and I have 5 large to medium sized dogs, she asked me what I would do with myself all day if I did not have them. I had to keep myself from hanging up. I told her I’d be living in VA with sailor and not in GA. The silence on her end could have only been made better if I’d bitch slapped her to the side of the face. With a chair. I know that she has been going through a rough and dirty break up, but seriously?
The happy part:
In direct correlation to the cranky part, I have taken on a foster puppy. Yes, that means I have 6 dogs in the house. Who coincidentally just chomped on my arm and really needs to go to sleep. He’s like having a baby. Feed him, he runs around crazy for a half hour, nap, potty, repeat. He is a lovely distraction, but I cannot wait til he reaches his goal weight, is fixed, and finds a home of his own. It also means we can take on another. Perhaps not a puppy tho, my crew seems to do better with older dogs, I thought a pup would be easier on them, guessed wrong. Not that it’s a bad situation, I can just tell they’d be happier if puppy was older.
February 6, 2012, Love Hurts.
I received a text from my middle brother yesterday. Which is entirely out of the ordinary, the last time he texted me was in the summer, to use my military discount at the blue hardware store.
He asked me how Georgia was. I told him I was good, the dogs were good, and that I had a string of guests every other week til mid April. I also told him that Sailor wasn’t happy with the arrangement. Neither of us are “happy” with how this worked out for our little unit, but we knew it wasn’t going to be rainbows and butterflies.
Brother said it was too late to be upset.
Just because we knew a decision would suck when we made it doesn’t make it suck any less. Yes, we are muddling through with minimal stress to either of us, but it isn’t perfect. I worry about him just as much as he does about me, possibly more, even if I am the one on the receiving end of firearm safety drills.
Whenever he calls he always sounds so miserable, in the way that only someone that knows you so well can notice. It breaks my heart to hear the little tremble in his voice when he says hello or tells me about his day. I’m sure it hurts him to hear my breathing catch when he says the “I love you” that signals he’s actually saying good bye.
I knew this was going to be hard, but no one said I had to like it.
My j(our)ney 