You would think that I would just get it by now, not have any expectation, and reduce potential for being pissed.
But no, here we still are for some reason, and I'm pissed.
I ask for nothing, or so very little. Yet I am wrung out.
For just a few days out of the year, just a few predictable days, I only wish (not even ask) that he could think of someone but himself. To have the kindness to set aside some resources and time to weather the storm with me. To not pretend to maintain his well honed water treading yet try and drown me should I come swimming by.
There is so much wrong, not the least being that the glue that adheres us to one another is made of a dead baby. A dead baby who won't have another birthday on March 31st.
But instead of my wish, what I get is illusion, oppression, and a person who walks into a room to rip a childrens rainbow off the wall just because it is there.
I swim alone, because I can't risk drowning. And I close my eyes, because I can't watch.
I know this is incredibly depressing. Maybe after reading this you will forgive me for the Happy Dead Baby Cake post which is in my head and surely to worm its way out.