Wednesday, April 3, 2013


I took M— with me to the Pie Tin. She's on Spring Break, lonely, anxious, teetering toward clinical depression, and in need of company. It's a good thing—the needing company part. I do too. It was nice to have her there with me. I think she could handle all of it, right now, whether she's got two more years in high school or not. I wonder if high school isn't half her problem. (I harbor an inherent mistrust of people who enjoyed their high school experience.)

So we enjoyed Astrobiology, Ethics and Women's Lit together. We read through the prose poems I'm supposed to be critiquing for workshop in Poetry tomorrow. We talked and laughed, and a secret part of me wishes we were doing this whole college thing together.

Of all my friends and professors, wouldn't you know it was Mr. Philosophy who came up to M— and showed interest once we'd settled in "the hall." That man baffles me. Sometimes I think I get the dynamic and other times I'm just...baffled. All the same, I'm so grateful that he was kind to M—. She so desperately needs friends (besides her mum). She needs to feel present and valid, like she matters. Mr. PNU was the only one to extend himself. 

M— asked me later what my favorite class was. I told her Poetry. I lied. If not for the emotional complication I would have told her Ethics, hands down. She knows I'm conflicted; in her words "sad." I'm sad that this semester's topography of drama makes me appear sad.

Does life ever stop handing you helpings of heartache?

I'm still mourning that my husband wouldn't treat me with the kindness and love that a wife who is valued usually receives. 

It hurts. Still.

It hurts that relative strangers offer meager portions of kindness that I will never get from the man I chose for eternity.

It hurts that I get nauseous when I think about my husband.

It hurts that it seems this marriage will never end.

It hurts that I think I may be alone and without the love and kindness that is only human to desire.

It hurts that my daughter feels like she is a failure.

It hurts that my beautiful daughter thinks she is unattractive.

It hurts that my exquisitely talented daughter beats herself up because she doesn't feel good enough.

It hurts that even God doesn't seem to fill the holes in our life sometimes.

It hurts that we are a family of kind, loving, lonely people.

We'll spend the day alone, together again tomorrow.

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