Mondays I work late, til 7. I started work at 9. So, it was another long, busy day. It’s good, that it’s busy.
But now I’m home. I’ve eaten leftovers from Sunday, when I usually manage to make a decent meal. I have a half glass of cabernet beside me, 3 squares of dark chocolate, in my warm fleece jammies, lol. It’s about as good as I can get it at the moment.
Good, considering I was a little angry about things today, but I wrote the anger off to the still present emotional waves. When I thought about how cruelly he ended it with me 7 weeks ago, and then wouldn’t let me go, kept calling and texting and leaving me voice mails, asking me to come see him, right up to the moment he was exposed, and then had the unmitigated gall to ask me to lie for him….Geezus. It just pissed me off. I mean, really what rock did he crawl out from under? But I’m over it. A little rage bubbles up, I consider the source, and honest to God, I have to laugh at someone who is so clueless. Geezus.
So, now I’m home, in my beautiful home, relaxing, writing, being happy. A is texting me with his undying love, which from 2000 miles is a soothing. He has gutted his new home, he’s sent me pics. He and his son are doing all the work. A is 69, man, he’s working his ass off physically.
I so didn’t want to be at work today. I can’t wait to put this house on the market in spring. I am believing that it will sell by summer. I just can’t wait to retire, and not work. Own a home with no mortgage. I wanted to be writing all day today. It has become such a passion, to sit down and put my thoughts and emotions to written word. So healing.
My cousin was reading some of the poetry I’ve written and put up here last night. She knows what I’ve been through and could feel it in what I wrote. She said, “Damn, Deb, you are good…” I told her the only problem is that to write a good poem I apparently need to be tortured, lol. Or crazy in love. So… lately I’m just tortured.
The love will come, the love will come. My heart is open, the love will come.