It’s 3 am.
I have a glass of white, a bottle of diet coke and an ice cream sandwich.
I have my brand new “Passion Planner,” which if you don’t know what it is, you’re probably not the planner/notebook/calendar junkie I am. I could recite all sorts of acolydes and praise for the Passion Planner – and I’m sure all justified – but the truth is it’s just one more (planner) desperate attempt by a desperate woman to some how gain control of her life. Her Self.
I’ve cried this early morning hour for the loved ones I’ve lost and miss.
And for the life I lost and miss.
We have a wedding to go to in the normal-morning hours and when I tried on the outfit I plan to wear, all I could think was,
I’m as big as a house.
I’ve “let myself go.”
I’m one of those women.
I blame his drinking for that too.
I blame this whole hot-mess-of-a-life I am living on his drinking.
And I don’t think I am wrong.
But I do know regardless of who or what’s to blame, I am responsible.
Responsible for fixing in my life what his drinking has destroyed.
I just wish I had a better idea of how to do that exactly.