So today it strikes me that I've been writing rather pretentiously -- self-consciously, maybe -- which is weird, because that never happens when I'm writing for the paper and it's a GIVEN that half-a-million people could read it. Wonder why that is.
At any rate, I will now stop doing that. :)
Today is One Of Those Days. An orbiting headache just waiting to burst thru my own personal atmosphere. An unsettled "whateverness." Too many clouds, and I can't even win a stupid game of Spider Cell solitaire. All that, and it's Super Bowl Sunday. Whoo-fucking-hoo.
Today is also One Of Those Days when I just know it's time to scuttle the sinking S.S. Marriage ship. So, being the proactive blob that I am, I just looked up houses, and jobs, and now I feel even worse. If I were to actually BE proactive, and move out, I could look forward to middle age in a lovely 2-bedroom shithole with moldy carpet and bleached-wood cabinets, which is all I could afford "on my own." (T, the errant husband, has vowed never to pay spousal support -- as I have mentioned, money is His Issue.) And now, apparently, it is mine.
On Days Like These, I try to remind myself that at least, at one point, I did have A Life. I have been deeply, madly, passionately In Love -- twice. I just forgot to marry either one of them.
I thought I was acting very grown-up when I married T. We were buddies. Drinking buddies, bonging buddies, OK-but-not-great sex buddies. What a solid foundation! What a mature decision! I would never once have to worry about intense passion melting away.
Yeah, that was a good idea.
These days, sex is like accepting an Oscar -- it's just one of those things that other people do.
Thank God, I have other habits to occupy my time. On a Day Like Today, it's moping. Sigh.
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