Sweet Baby James keeps playing this refrain: Don’t come to me with your sorrows anymore, I don’t need to know how bad you’re feeling today. I declare I’ve had my share and I’ve heard it all before, it’s time for me to be stealing away.
If only I could steal away. Seriously universe, give me a freakin’ break. Since John physically left a month and a half ago, I’ve found out my job is in jeopardy due to lack of funding (layoffs are scheduled for around May), the furnace broke and I spent four cold days in December without heat before it could be repaired for a hefty sum, someone (malicious or no) uprooted the poetry post in front of the house (running joke: the poem wasn’t that bad) and rifled through the recycling bin (it would be the week after my single girls shopping trip…see previous post) littering the neighborhood with Lelo and Funfactory boxes, have had a rather large (large as in many and size) colony of rats residing in the basement that needed to be exterminated for the price of the monthly mortgage, my self-help book was stolen (really, who needs it more at this point?), and the heavy rains are now flooding the basement/garage floor. This is aside from the usual daily diapering of the dog (also issuing pills to prevent leaky bladder) and waking up in the night to the loud caterwauling of the cat with dementia. My elder animals are becoming more and more like infants and I am now a single parent. All this on top of functioning at work, attending and trying to concentrate on graduate school, and oh yeah, dealing with some heavy emotional shit because my husband left me!!! I’m half expecting to find a swarming plague of locusts next time I step out the door. And I’m wondering if it’s some sort of karmic retribution. I must have been a very naughty librarian in a previous life.