Savaged

I saw The Savages. The fact that I love Philip Seymour Hoffman in that movie tells me everything I need to know about why I often go to bed and wake up crying.

What the fuck happened. I was sailing along. Fine. Lonely sometimes, sometimes wondering if I'd ever have another lover or if those days were just, well, done.

I have to get off match. It's caused far too much disruption. I want the male attention, but the process is making me terribly unhappy. I only wish I knew what to do next. Part of me wants to travel, but where? To what end?

I can hear my neighbor, she's not alone. There's giggling. For a moment I thought, oh, why not me? Then I remembered how relieved I was when I wasn't waking up with my husband anymore.

Yeah. Time to get off match.