God and I are in a fight.
Ok, it’s a one sided deal but I’m angry and, like all of my relationships, it’s a one sided anger because I’ll never say out loud what is bothering me.
I was taught that God will provide. Have faith. God has a plan.
Well, I want a new plan. I don’t like this one. It’s not my job to judge the plan but I’m not happy.
I’m still not feeling well. I have a residual cough and sore throat that I can’t kick. We’re talking like 3 weeks here. I’m sure it’s still viral but I’m not sleeping again either. And I feel bad trying to pawn my kids off on Robyn every day. And I’m sad when she can’t take them because *gasp* she has a life that does’t revolve me or my kids. How dare she? But it’s so hard trying to pack and move (in less than a week to go, no less) and I just want to curl up on my couch and eat popcorn and watch movies.
I had 2 friends over today to help me pack. Well, they packed I stood there, helpless, with a marker. I packed and repacked the same box over and over again. I didn’t want to pack something that I or the girls might need, you see. Even though I’m pretty sure that we can do without 97% of our stuff. So it’s a good thing that I have good friends to whip me into shape. Nobody likes moving and packing is hard work. I keep finding things that I thought I lost or things that are Stephen’s. Were Stephen’s. Like his keys. And the photo album of his trip to Canada with his dad that we couldn’t find for the funeral.
If I’d clean more often, I wouldn’t have this problem of lost things I think. But nothing is ever “lost” per se. Like the show, things are decidedly not lost. They just aren’t where they are supposed to be.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“I lost my dad/son/husband too”
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my husband”
Things are decidedly not where they are supposed to be. Like I said, I’d like to request a new plan.