Im sitting on my bed at half past midnight, ready to run.
Blue jeans, tshirt, socks, shoes, hoodie and hat, crying … ready to run.
I wish I could say what exactly set this off this time and I might have a pretty good guess, but still … Im ready to run.
I just want to hit the door and take off like a bat out of hell in the car. Where? It doesn’t much matter. I just need the tires on the pavement, rolling anywhere but here.
It’s always the kids that make me stay. Not that I wouldn’t ever come back, but they’ve had their world turned upside down more times than children should and that’s probably my fault, so I stay. Sitting. Fully clothed. Ready to run.
What I think brought all of this about was a short conversation between Hubster and I before he went to sleep on the couch, again. It was a couple words of him saying how relieved he was that I had my driver’s license back so that he wasn’t bound to do anything with me. Maybe he didn’t mean it the way I took it, but it instantly sent me into “Oh HELL NO! I AM NOT THE ONE TO DEAL WITH THIS BULLSHIT”
Now, Im just sitting here wondering how the hell I got here. How the hell we got here. Why do relationships always start out as everything we need and end up being … this?
What happened to the man I fell in love with? The man who told me I could throw all my darkness at him and he wouldn’t leave? The guy who told me not to worry that what we found together would ever die out because he promised it wouldn’t when I told him, I felt relationships and promises were pointless because they’re all bound to burn out?
What’s a girl to do when she wants to be wanted? Or needs to be needed?
What do you do when you need someone who makes moments last and keeps promises? Someone who’d rather have experiences than things? What do you do when you need something more than just the same old story? What do you do when it seems you need someone other than the one you married?
Maybe men aren’t meant for marriage. Or maybe this is why God made girls. To drag men into doing all the things they would normally never do without them. Maybe men aren’t what they used to be. Maybe my Dad set a standard too high.
OR quite possibly … maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not made for marriage. Maybe I can’t be “handled”.
All I know is that we’re not where we used to be and I can either settle for him being an active participant in our marriage when he feels like it … or …