It's when things aren't going well that I miss her the most. It's these times when I'd like to climb up in bed next to her and cry on her shoulder. I wanna tell her how much my heart hurts, but I can't. She's gone, and I'm left to my own devices.
At this point, I'm tired. I wanna go home, but there's no home to go to. If I leave California and go to Texas, I won't have a job. If I go to New York, I won't have a place to live. In addition, I won't have enough money to make it. So I'm stuck here on the West Coast -- my very own sunny version of Hell.
Now here's the funny part. Just writing those feelings down, seeing them on paper, makes me feel better. I know things could be worse. One of my good friends is sleeping in her car. Her stuff is in storage, and she's been making her Honda her home. I'm blessed that I have Mr. Wonderful, but I'm not convinced that this is the best thing for me.
It's one thing to be alone, but it's another thing altogether to be lonely when you're with someone. Yes, I live with him -- and that doesn't feel good to me and my sensibilities -- but now he's acting like I don't exist. And after a particular disappointing evening where I performed a service that I wasn't paid for, I came home to find my belongings in a closet. He was like, "I can't live with your stuff like it is."
Let me explain. He has been kind enough to let me stay with him while I get myself together. When I first got here, he cleared out two drawers and gave me part of his small hall closet. Now ladies, I submit to you even if I downsize -- and believe me I have -- that's not enough space. Therefore, I was keeping my stuff in a plastic bag in a corner of the bedroom. I also have stuff in the bathroom and on the nightstand on my side of the bed.
I guess it wasn't enough for him. My stuff was relegated to the closet, and while I normally wouldn't have cared, after the night I'd had, I just wasn't in the mood to be treated like somebody's bad child. He started in on me the minute I came in the house. I sat my keys down and he was like, "That's not where those go." I gave him that bitch please look. After that, I saw what he'd done.
If I were one to curse, cry, and scream, I'd probably feel a lot better. Since I'm trying to be considerate in the face of his grief, I just held my peace. But it's getting harder and harder to look at this man who claims to love me and not say anything.
And that's why I'm missing my grandmother more and more these days. I want to talk to her to find out how she'd handle this situation. She would know exactly what to do because she was magic. And I need a little magic in my life right now.
At this point, I'm tired. I wanna go home, but there's no home to go to. If I leave California and go to Texas, I won't have a job. If I go to New York, I won't have a place to live. In addition, I won't have enough money to make it. So I'm stuck here on the West Coast -- my very own sunny version of Hell.
Now here's the funny part. Just writing those feelings down, seeing them on paper, makes me feel better. I know things could be worse. One of my good friends is sleeping in her car. Her stuff is in storage, and she's been making her Honda her home. I'm blessed that I have Mr. Wonderful, but I'm not convinced that this is the best thing for me.
It's one thing to be alone, but it's another thing altogether to be lonely when you're with someone. Yes, I live with him -- and that doesn't feel good to me and my sensibilities -- but now he's acting like I don't exist. And after a particular disappointing evening where I performed a service that I wasn't paid for, I came home to find my belongings in a closet. He was like, "I can't live with your stuff like it is."
Let me explain. He has been kind enough to let me stay with him while I get myself together. When I first got here, he cleared out two drawers and gave me part of his small hall closet. Now ladies, I submit to you even if I downsize -- and believe me I have -- that's not enough space. Therefore, I was keeping my stuff in a plastic bag in a corner of the bedroom. I also have stuff in the bathroom and on the nightstand on my side of the bed.
I guess it wasn't enough for him. My stuff was relegated to the closet, and while I normally wouldn't have cared, after the night I'd had, I just wasn't in the mood to be treated like somebody's bad child. He started in on me the minute I came in the house. I sat my keys down and he was like, "That's not where those go." I gave him that bitch please look. After that, I saw what he'd done.
If I were one to curse, cry, and scream, I'd probably feel a lot better. Since I'm trying to be considerate in the face of his grief, I just held my peace. But it's getting harder and harder to look at this man who claims to love me and not say anything.
And that's why I'm missing my grandmother more and more these days. I want to talk to her to find out how she'd handle this situation. She would know exactly what to do because she was magic. And I need a little magic in my life right now.
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