Tuesday, March 3, 2015

March 2nd.

I spent the day with my son at his house.  Scott had left that morning for a week long trip to California.  The first half would be spent attending a video game industry convention, job searching.  The rest would be spent at a music convention, where he would be releasing his new album.

I spent most of the day dealing with depression that threatened to crush my soul.  All the old resentments and jealously about the trips that Scott got to take, that his friend paid for, were sitting on my chest like a horrible, heavy snake.

No one, except my parents, had ever paid for me to go anywhere.  Scott took upwards of 5 trips a year, all funded by his friend.  I stayed home.  I stayed home and felt angry, jealous, resentful and trying to talk myself out of feeling angry, jealous and resentful. 

I kept thinking about what a bad wife I'd been.  And now I was the person who was breaking up my children's home.  Being in the house where I didn't live anymore made me horrifically sad. 

My father was going to be arriving on the 4th to help me with the kids.  The house was in no shape for guests, but I couldn't gather the energy to even pick up.  The most I could manage was to unload and reload the dishwasher.

I sat on the couch, watching television with my son and counting the minutes until I could go to bed and sleep.

That's all I wanted to do.  Sleep. 

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