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Ohhhh, it roared last night.

Some part of me felt like the sky was caving in, the acorns were cracking against my windows, and the trees were bending and swaying because my world was ending. One story was ending. It was like the gods were trying to tell me that this was chaos, that something new was coming, and that I needed to pay attention.

I sat outside in it for quite awhile. Breathing out all the fear I’ve been accumulating. It didn’t rain until much later, after I’d moved the house around, decorated a bunch. I made this place feel like a real home. The Young Sir woke up and was absolutely amazed.

“Wow…you did a lot!”

I did.


Somehow, I woke up. Being to blame for something helped me wake up. I realized I didn’t work my hardest in my last relationship. One foot out the door. I did him a disservice and the confusion was terrible. It hurt. And I know it hurt him a lot more, my selfishness. I acted as if his pain and hurt, his scary nights in hotel rooms and his trying and trying to no avail was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything. But it did. And Wuff is as strong as I am. So, his walking out the door for what is 100% surely the last time made me reflect. I reflected on the growing selfishness I’ve been wallowing in. The fear. The flailing. The confusion. And this has been years and years and years of it, building up.

I cried a bit. I laughed. I tore down things and put stuff up in their place. And I got over myself.

Looking for love like my Daddy gave my Mommy is stupid. They are two individual people. My dad is dead.

Looking for love in general, as a way to feel accepted, is selfish. Because it’s not what I really want. I just want something to tell me what I really want, to give me a purpose before I’m crushed to death like my father.

Looking for a house in the woods, to get away from everyone, for the exit in every situation, it’s hopeless. I want to stop jumping from wanting on thing to wanting the next.

So I took things down and put things up and sat in a storm. I watched the sky bleed. I made my kids go to bed at a reasonable time, and I will from now on.

I cleaned the kitchen before I sat down, and I will from now on.

I made tomorrows loose schedule before I took a shower, and I will from now on.

And I reflected. I thought about things instead of blaming everyone else for my problems. I thought about every fight I had with Wuff and how I could’ve reacted better. Not made problems out of thin air. I thought about why I’m so calm now, now that he’s away, even as I ache terribly from missing him.

I wondered why I suddenly blame myself for things that were his fault, too. I wondered why I do that. And I realize that we were bad for each other in our current states no matter how you swing it. Just fear/anger/tiredness towards the world outside and mounting tension inside. He needed so much space. I needed so much closeness.


I’ve written more in the span of time since he walked out that door than I have in years. Because that was my fault. This time was my fault and it really woke me up.

I don’t want to be selfish. I want to enjoy things. I want to teach my children how to think, how to enjoy, how to be fearless in this world that very well might eat them up no matter what they do. I want to love my life, and not just because I’m loved in it.


This is a nice feeling. It’s a true feeling. It got me up and cooking. Sweeping. Mopping. Taking things down and putting things up.


I reject the fear that turned me.