Bad

Today is my husband’s birthday. I think I let him down this year. In fact, the only banner birthday I’ve given him was right as my gambling was starting to turn for the worse, when I risked more money than we could afford, but it paid off because I won a jackpot to cover the losses and pay for plane fare to take him on a trip.

I’ve been having lots of conversations with my husband in my head. They are full of accusatory statements by both of us, fueled by resentment. I feel like I got talked into a life I didn’t want, and now I’m stuck with it … all alone.

The problem is, now I don’t mind the alone, but I still don’t want the life or any of the trappings. I’ve even gone so far as to think about how we’d split up stuff and how we’d look after our dog.

I don’t know; maybe that’s normal. Do all married people think like that? Of course, I thought drinking a bottle and a half of wine each night was normal, so what do I know?

Well, I know I’m harboring some deep resentment. I know I feel bad I’ve disappointed him. I know I crave more … and less, at least less stuff to take care of.

And so tired still. I have bigger, darker eye bags than I did 30 days ago. It’s not fair.