Remeber the line "Even a brick wants to be something".

Oh frustration! Irritation! I cannot underbloodystand!!!

I am frustrated by my own limitations. Honestly, I am embarrassed at my limited knowledge on certain topics. I am ashamed of my lack of ambition. I feel I function well below potential. But jeepers, at least I try. I try to stay relevant. I am trying to remain human. I am terrified of losing touch with the world or being reduced to a dependent, desperate housewife. I work so hard to maintain some kind of identity.

Yet there are people, WOMEN, so content to wither away. So resigned to being handicapped. What hurts me most are those who are mothers of daughters. They cause the most harm. They, by example, teach girls to NOT want more for themselves.

I'm not saying go out and stand your man in a man's world. But dammit try to be something. Every breathing body has potential. Can you go to your grave content with not having at least tried to explore yours?

Early Retirement

I think I’m retiring from running. It no longer makes me feel good about myself.

When I started running it was an escape. When I started running races, each race was an achievement. I knew I wasn’t breaking 10km records, but I felt awesome. When I ran 21km I felt like a rock star. But something must be very wrong when one finishes a 21km race and then feels like a failure.

Running is no longer about me, about challenging myself, or about feeling special. Now I’m either running myself into the ground to stay ahead of your ridicule or desperately trying to catch up to your expectations. Never succeeding, mind you. Always being reminded of what a piss poor excuse for a runner I am.

Even now as I prepare to break my body to finish my first 42km the message I get from you is that I’m going to suck. And not only am I going to suck, but that you’ll be there to rub in just how badly I’m going to suck.

Every day for me is a challenge. Every day I have to dig deep to find a little faith, a little self confidence. And as I try to climb my way out of self doubt you voice, your words, are like venomous claws snatching at me, pulling me back down.

And then there’s the insult to the injury. Running was my escape. My escape from a world where I had to compete for my own husband’s attention. And I always came up short.

Running put me in a space where I could be myself. Where they weren’t. Where I felt like something, for a change.

Yet once again here they are. They didn’t crash their way in. You held open the door and let them walk right past me, into my special space. And of course, once again, I cannot compete.

It’s ok. They can have it. I give up.

But fuck you for doing this to me.

Fuck you for once gain stealing my peace, for snatching away my happiness, for breaking down the little bit if confidence I’ve built and for shattering the already fragile identity I’ve had to recreate.

But this time I’m not going to fade into the background like I’ve done before, for your convenience.

Yes I’m hurting and I’m sad and I don’t know where I’m going. That’s what you wanted right?

But I will find myself again. I will recreate myself again. Notice how each time I come back stronger.

Every time you break me down I rebuild a better version of myself.

So fuck you. Really, FUCK YOU.

Proving his point

I know I'm being really stupid right now for allowing myself to be affected. I should know by now that popping my bubble and pissing on my parade is a reflex to him. And I'm sure when he says he's just trying to keep it real he believes it too. 

I guess he also believes in being cruel to be kind. When it comes to me anyways. 

End result is he's only ever cruel to me. Criss crossing between criticising and mocking me. All for my own good I'm sure. 

And then I'm always amazed at his capacity for kindness with others. Other women more specifically. Ever motivational, inspirational and understanding. Accommodating, helpful and supportive.

I turn away not wanting him to see the single tear that escapes down my cheek for fear of further ridicule.

I'm almost angry with myself for being foolish enough to attempt conversation.

Against my better judgement, I ignored the instinct of self preservation. I made a gesture.

Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
                                               
You deserve what you got.

So suck it up and shut up.

Table for three, two kids, one adult.

Panarottis, Saturday 21st June 2014

Table for three, two kids, one adult. Always only one adult. One would think I'm a single parent.

How much of it is my fault I wonder. I can't deny that I deliberately excluded him from our outings at times.

At first it was a fair mix of spite and defense. Survival tactic almost. Part not being able to swallow down the lump of pain in my throat when pretending to be a happy family. And part forcing myself to get used to living without him. As for spite, I wanted to punish him. Make him miss us, to lose us. But I'm not strong enough to stand the side effect - letting the kids suffer from missing him.

So what now?

By slowly and subtly removing us from him, bit by bit, I created this new kind of normal. Two kids and one adult.

So why today am I bothered by it? Why today do I feel lonely? Bloody Bruno Mars singing "I shudder brought you flowers and held your hand" not helping the mood. The World Cup related outburst from the food court outside the doors of the pizza parlor does nothing to stir me from my self pity.

I don't know if this marriage can be fixed. To be honest it's not all that broken. It's just not perfect. There were bad mistakes, ones that aren't really forgivable. But I've since sinned as much as he has. Shouldn't we call it even and start over?

How'd that song go. "We're not broken just bent and we can learn to love again".

The thought almost makes me laugh out loud because it brings me to the face of the problem. Fear. Fear of trying again only to wind up in the same place. The scene playing in my mind is of a car crashing head on into a brick wall and the bricks tumbling down and burying the body. That's pretty much how he left me last time - crushed. And I can't help but think that taking this trip with him again would be stupid. Insane.

Or is it stupid to throw away a marriage that was built on friendship? I mean, what's a little infidelity between friends?

Frustrating hey. I feel stuck. I liked it more when I was angry. When I'm mad as hell I don't feel sad or pain. Being a woman scorned is far more fun than being a woman stuck.

It's dark outside because its well after 8pm and at some point we will have to go home. Did he miss us today? We last saw him around 10am this morning. Ok, what I'm really asking is does he ever miss me?

Am I lonely or sad because I miss him? Or do I just miss having someone there. I've done such a good job (debatable) of finding several stand-in someones. I've fooled myself with fantasy and virtual relationships. But I guess I've realized that its not sustainable. I can't remain married to him and on the side nurse a secret relationship with a divorced father of four. For one, its unfair to him -the divorced daddy. He deserves better. He deserves a whole relationship, not time-share of someone else's wife.

Nor can I keep burdening someone else's husband for a shoulder to cry on (we'll just all it that, ok). I'm then merely doing what was done unto me. My conscience is not coping with the collateral damage. Yah, that surprises me too. Or maybe I'm just worried about Karma.

Jeepers, the thought of going home hurts. Because I'm so sure of what's waiting. Nothing. No excitement to see us. No warm hug. No long, deep kiss. Yah, there's that damn lump again.

It's late June now, so the last time he kissed me would have been about ... 2012.

Yes, ok! I get the occasional peck. Not this morning though. Not yesterday either. I'm sure it must have been sometime this week, because I remember my heart breaking for the reluctant way he's stubble just barely brushed my cheek. I remember I closed my eyes almost hoping to feel his lips on my face. Always hoping, silly girl. Always heartbroken, stupid woman. Always embarrassed, humiliated, rejected, pathetic wife.

Oh let's just pay the bill and get it over with. Go home, go sleep and dream of second chances at happiness with divorcees who love my kisses.