October 15, 2005

And so, here I am, sitting in a chair and typing something else for "you" to read. Isabella is four months old and trying to talk more. She can sit up by herself and has become facinated with her hands. Donald and I . . .

It's so hard to live with someone who you don't really "live" with. He leaves at 4 am and comes home between 6 and 8 or sometimes 10. We eat, then he goes to sleep. We have very little time together, and when we are together, we stress each other out. He leaves in less than a month. Our car is dead again. Our relationship is shaky. How much more do we need to endure? What do we have to prove to finally get to be happy? When is it our turn? Will there ever be an "our turn"? Will we even make it to it?

I'm filled with so many questions and receiving no answers. I need a cigarette. Maybe two or three. It's incredible how quick something as sure as Donald and I seemed on the outside can go to shit so easily.

*Sigh* Thanks for reading.