Yes. That is my disgusting foot. I made you look at my disgusting foot. And that's my blister. Not on my heel, but ABOVE my heel - where my shoe rubs if I wear little socks. It's owie. And I hate it. Because I've been so excited about the gym and now? Well. I have to be careful. I've always had trouble with this stupid foot because it's a whole size smaller than my other foot. And it does stupid shit like this. Like get blisters. And I don't want to stop walking. Because for some reason, it's doing something for me. Like make me feel better. And I don't want it to end.
I had a minor meltdown today at work. I try really hard not to cry at work these days. But I spend so very much time alone, that's it's super hard not to go into the recesses of my brain and I have a hard time getting back out. Cowgirl texted me this afternoon to tell me that she's having a boy. And after three girls, I'm sure her husband is super excited and I said so, and asked how she was feeling. And she said, "Pretty much the same since before I knew." And well, the tears welled up and I tried my best to keep them in, which meant notbeingabletobreathetryingnottocry sort of thing, but in the end, they leaked out. The tears. Because she doesn't want this baby. And I want so, so, so much to have a partner and a baby that it sometimes slays my soul. I KNOW that's not in the cards for me today. I know that with every fiber of my being. But it hurts. Those lifelong disappointments. They hurt. Like bad, bad hurt.
Most of the time I try to ignore them. I put on a happy face and put all the hurts in pretty little packages and store them away in the recesses of my brain and for the most part - really believe that I'm okay. But then something happens and those presents come out and I have to untie the pretty bow and Pandora's box erupts and rips into my heart. And well? It's kind of hard to shove those feelings back into the pretty box and go on with life.
And for the most part, I just don't fucking want to. Go on with life. Because I'm not getting the things I want. And somehow, that has to be okay. But it's not. So, acceptance, acceptance, acceptance, and when does the fucking acceptance stop and living begin? I don't know. And it hurts. It hurts so very much tonight. All those dreams. That I don't get to have. And as I'm sitting in Gay Boyfriend's fucking basement, looking at the cat hair that I need to vaccuum up, it suddenly seems too much to bear. And I can't do it anymore. I just can't.
So, I deleted my profile on match.com and I took my name off the temporary sponsor list at the club. Because frankly? I have nothing to give right now. Not a goddamn thing except self pity and hatred. And I'm angry. So very angry. And I don't DO angry. So, I'm up shit creek. And I'm not even sure I want a paddle.