Sometimes I feel the funk coming on, and sometimes I just wake up right smack in the middle of it. I’m in a funky funk.
In two days, the children and I are driving out to Indiana to celebrate Easter with my family and to see my little niece, Princess Cutie Pie. I’m nervous. To make matters worse, my dear mother decided it was time to put her past behind her and invite my father and his wife and my half sister to my niece’s first birthday party on Saturday. She seems excited that they are coming. I feel like I’m going to throw up.
My parents have been divorced since I was in college, and they’ve barely spoken two words to each other since. Sounds like a great party…
After we return in the middle of next week, the kids will go to their dad’s house, and I will fly to Seattle to see Mr. Nice Guy. I don’t want to go. What is wrong with me?
He and I agreed that we would wait until after this trip and after his visit to NYC in April to talk about what to do next. Do we think our friendship has “relationship” potential or should we just leave well enough alone? Sometimes I feel smothered by his kindness.
And yet, I’m sad to be ignored by the Belgian and I miss him crazily and passionately. I want to jump on a plane to Europe to find him and spend days wrapped up in red sheets and running my hands through his hair. We are playing some version of cat and mouse; last week he said he was sad not to have any news from me, and now I am feeling the slow agony of his silence.
But he’s bad for me… isn’t he? We can’t be together, and isn’t that what I want? Do I? My sensitive little Joey still talks about the Belgian on a regular basis, as though he is a part of our lives here.
I know I want a house – that I know for sure. And to get that, I need a job. As for the men… I really have no idea.
The Belgian likes French art films. Mr. Nice Guy likes Ratatouille.
Mr. Nice Guy is scaring me. When I get scared I run. He has this big agenda for my trip to Seattle; he wants to take me hiking and show me all of his favorite places. I’m not a hiker, and I told him so. It’s just not my thing, and it sounds like torture to me. He’s ridiculous about being healthy, and I hate that. I’m not feeling healthy right now. When someone is pushing me to be healthy (or pushing me to do anything) I rebel violently, as in eating a Sam’s Club sized bag of chocolate Easter eggs, for example. (They were so good.)
I have a million and one things to do today and tomorrow in preparation for the trip. I’m not ready in any way, shape or form.
Groan… I just don’t wanna…