There are moments, America, where hysteria sets in. Where you have all of these things that you're bottling up and you're holding on because you don't have time to go batshit crazy and you've got to keep on truckin... but these moments come knocking on your door and you end up in a puddle of tears. Frick. I'm stronger than this.
But am I? Frick.
Back in the day I fell crazy in love with this guy. It was the most intense experience of my life. I mean, it completely and truly rocked me to every single fiber of my being. It was obvious to everyone who saw me. I was mad about the boy. It was the simplest, deepest, truest thing ever. He was all that I wanted.
When we got married, I knew it would be tough. First of all, marriage is just freaking tough to begin with. You don't merge two different people with completely different ideas on life and expect everything to be roses and candy. It's a challenge. Accept it, don't accept it, I don't really care. The facts speak for themselves. Throw in to crazy lang challenge, the US military. That basically escalates all things crazy to extreme mode ultra. It's like crazy on steroids.
So. What's all that "back then" stuff got to do with tonight? I want that boy home. I want him to sit with me in the muck and the mire of these crazy emotions surging through my little pink heart and I want him to help me cry, and to make me laugh, and to wrap it all up with a bow of love and acceptance. I want to fall asleep in that fabulous, beautiful place that is his comfort and then wake up to his warmth and his taste and his smell. Frick.
Life keeps on happening, whether or not he's here. Life keeps on wounding and confusing and crazying it up, whether or not he's warring or waiting or schooling or training or a gazillion other "ors" that get dished out. Frick.
Keep on truckin'...
