I think the baby growing inside me is dead.
I think I will never work again.
I think my husband is a homo because he is such a snazzy dresser.
I think I am poor.
I think I am not supported.
I think my mother is dying.
I think my neighbors hate me.
I can feel it kicking.
I have been doing what I love for 15 years.
He told me it would be more likely he will cheat on me with the 16 year old babysitter.
I have affordable and reliable 2 bedroom, 2 level, no rodent, clean and quiet housing.
I have lots of friends, family and a dog that would totally bawl their eyes out and maybe even beat their chests if I died.
I get to spend time with her and prepare for it rather than be blindsided.
Fuck my neighbors.
You are not only what you think you are.
The universe is so much smarter than that.
Your life is so much grander and gorgeous and blessed than the shit inside your head.
Uncomfortable as it is, I know, you better learn to accept all this beauty because it’s going to keep coming for you.
You might as well try to feel the warmth.
But I’m used to difficult. I know how to feel pain.
Isn’t it funny how the most challenging thing really is to figure out how to hold all the light.
It’s almost to heavy to bear.
Because even with the pushing and flailing and arguing and commiserating…it keeps being better than good.
I expect the worst and I keep getting the best.
God keeps proving me wrong.
How annoyingly incredible is that?