Mondays and Love.

I secretly like Mondays. I know. It sounds weird. Who would ever like the day after a weekend? Not having to do anything is so much more fun. 

I like Mondays because they start another week. They give me the chance to say “I wasn’t as productive as I should have been last week. This week will be better.” Really, I say that each morning. I’m never as productive as I think I should be. I’m much harder on myself than anyone would ever be on me. 

Part of it is my desire to do what I want with my life. I want to break through this imaginary glass box where I can see all the wonderful bits of being a writer but can’t get to them. Except, I am a writer. I’m just not published yet. I want to be though. So badly. 

I know I need to step up my game. That’s why I’m so hard on myself. That, and years of conditioning that I had to be the best. Not sure where that came from, but hey, it happens. I’m not going to hold anyone responsible. Life just is what it is. 

Life just is. I feel like some of my relatives could benefit from taking that phrase to heart. That, and love is a complicated, angry beast that you don’t truly understand until you’ve your heart ripped out and all your dreams dashed. 

That was a little depressing. What I meant is sometimes you get it right the first time. My parents are a great example. They’ve been together for 29 years. They’ve had disagreements, fights, hard times, good times, scares and all those other things that make life interesting. There were times I thought they were done, but the stuck together. They’re my model for what love can be. 

Then there’s what it shouldn’t be. That one was my first marriage. It was a dark place filled with loathing and doubt. I gave up myself and almost lost everything I am to be what someone else wanted me to be. We should never do that. We should always be true to ourselves. 

My relationship now is all the things I wanted. I’m happy when he’s around (Well, 90% of the time anyway. Disagreements are healthy.), I’m able to function when he’s not. Do I miss him when he’s gone? Yes, but I know he’ll be back. 

You know, I’m not even sure what the point was anymore. Maybe that you can’t force love to happen, and you can’t make someone love you who doesn’t. That sounds like a good point. 

I’m going to go write about zombies or murder investigations or something else dark and slightly inappropriate for polite company. That always makes me feel better.


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