It has never before felt this strange for a new month to begin. It's June, I've been in hiding for 11 weeks and 3 days so far. And so far so good. Not sick. My homemade face shield must be helping. I really really want to walk sweet pea. It's the one thing I want back in my life more than anything.
I also want the Y. But I am going to cancel that membership. There isn't a chance that going to the Y will be safe for a ling long time. I'm really numb over that. In a life where every time I am coasting a big gigantic frigging hurricane comes along to just blow me over and whip me right off my feet. I was 4 weeks into becoming who I was before, a certified gym rat, I felt so good it felt so right. It felt like I was ready to rejoin the ranks and live again.
Oh dang. Thats my problem. I'm not living. I'm waiting. Always waiting.
Waiting for the kids to grow up. Waiting for the ax to fall on the husband. Waiting for the plague to be over. Waiting for something to change so I can focus on me and me alone. It's not right.
I find myself looking at the heavens and asking when its gonna be my turn. I find myself hearing people tell me how I need to shove my own feelings away because someone else has a need greater than mine. No man. I'm done with that. It needs to be me time. Seriously. I have to stop caring about how I am perceived , how it looks, doing the right thing (Oh lord, I say that one like a broken record) and start being about me. I do. I have to claw my way onto my own priority list.
Except I can't go out or I might die.
Fuck.
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