Sometimes I really wish I was an anonymous blogger. I just think it would easier. When things like work or relationships bug the hell out me, I could talk about it here instead of quietly containing myself. There are so many things I wish I could share, so many things that bother me, so many realizations I’ve come to recently that are life-shaking and so many little annoyances I wish I could tell you about. There is so much I don’t share with anyone that I wish I could share with you, but it’s just not that simple.
I want to gripe about yesterday, about how mad I was, about how people always need to be treated with respect and I’d love to give you details but I just can’t. It wouldn’t be the right thing to do and so I’ll just keep steaming. Because ultimately, that’s just easier and more reasonable and really, not blasting someone for being a self-righteous asshole on the internet is probably just a smart decision.
I think I need to start keeping a journal again. I’ve tried, but when you are smushed into an apartment there is always a husband too close for privacy to be guaranteed and dog too close for sanity to be maintained, and so, I just don’t write. Which is really quite silly. One luxury that comes with the new house is space. Space to have my own office just for me, painted and decorated however I want just for ME. In other words, MINE! MINE! MINE! I’m hopeful I will write again once I have a “safe” space to do so and I hope I can stop feeling guilty for doing things just for me, otherwise, I’m likely to loose my mind, assuming it doesn’t get lost in this whole buying a house (and a refrigerator) adventure.