Having just finished reading Dave Barry's wonderful
Big Trouble for the 2nd or 3rd time, I should be in the post-good-book stupor, but instead my brain is thinking about other things.
About unfinished letters to a man from Nebraska that I'll never send to ask honest questions he'll never answer. About how I'm less than 2 years from being 30 and still don't know what I want to do with my life and am seemingly no closer to being at peace with myself. About how my family and friends are better than I deserve especially after the final epic explosion and disintegration of my relationship with my boss in SC and my car officially becoming a death trap and the 30-40 flea bites I got from spending under 24 hrs in the house is spent the past 9 months living in and trying to rescue and clean up my kitten. And the fact that it's becoming less and less likely all the time that I'll ever get a chance to have kids let alone find someone to share my life with.
What I don't get is why my brain can't think about these things during the day with the sunshine and coffee? Can't these thoughts wait till morning when I can sift through them properly?
I've decided that I want to be happy with my body by the time I turn 30, and I'm wondering if I should ever eat again. Ha.
Somewhere inside my head I am trying to remind myself that I need to find a job, put up bookshelves, clean out my closet, actually unpack, resign from the job I love that has recently decided I don't matter enough to pay me, and actually do something good for myself. I've already had all my bad luck. It's time to just find the good and help it grow.
Siiiiigh. Most of all, I need sleep. Maybe tonight I'll have better dreams.
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