Waiting to Wake up

I think there’s something wrong with me. No, like, really wrong with me. I feel like I’m walking around in a dream waiting to wake up and live. Everything is either too difficult or too simple. There is this state of mind called contentment. It’s this perfect harmony of well being where you don’t lie in bed at night and worry about everything, and you don’t look in the mirror and want to vomit, and you don’t have to force yourself to put the brush down so that you don’t beat yourself in the head until you are bloody with it. I couldn’t be further away from that state of mind. Okay, now, to be clear, I’m not sad. I love my husband and my son. But I’m just…I don’t know. Hell, maybe that’s the problem. I don’t know what is wrong with me.

Things are really hard right now since my husband lost his job and we’re having a hard time (meaning we’re not) keeping up with the bills. I haven’t had to worry about money stuff in a while and it freaking sucks. I mean it’s this all consuming worry that makes it hard for me to breathe. And I’m so mad about stupid little things. Things like, I didn’t get to do anything for my birthday, and I can’t get my hair done (see above about the beating in the head with the brush), and I can’t eat out for lunch. I’m so mad about these things. Downright resentful.

And then there’s work and all I’m going to say about that is never, ever, ever, ever work for your best friend. EVER.

So again, I’m back to waiting to wake up because this has to be a dream. This cannot be my real life. This…thing…that I do day after day, this has to be some sort of alternate reality and any moment now I’m going to wake up in my cozy and romantic bed with tall tapered posts draped in sheer silk, on the second floor of my country style cottage in Bryceville. I’ll roll to the left and see a copy of my most recent novel sitting on my nightstand and then roll back to the right and see the handsome face of my peaceful and employed husband. Any moment now.