11/11/17-21/11/2017

11/11/2017

I was right. I was right!! I cannot ever replicate the trueness of the laugh that came out of me in this diary, but you must remember the freedom that this laugh brought you, Edwynn. Surely, you must. He began to spend more and more time at work. The sweet dates we took to restaurants ended pretty quickly. Now, this is the fourth time he has spent the night at the office and the third time this month! It’s only been eleven days into November. I was right. I found myself crying tears of joy when I woke up today and saw he did not return. I was weeping and laughing like a madman!! Right on the rug he chose for our bedroom. Weeping and laughing, and I was reminded of the relief of finally cutting into a pus-filled boil and squeezing out all the filth. The relief from the pain even though the act is pain in and of itself. The relief from the discomfort. I was right. I was right. It was a feeling I had from the moment we talked in August, and I thought I wanted to prove myself wrong. I was happy these past few months, I wanted it to feel like everything was finally fixed. I wanted to wholeheartedly enjoy the time he gave to me, the time we dedicated to the chaos of beginning anew and the time we spent settling into a new routine. Into a new home. I was happy! I was happy but so cautiously so. And I was right to be, I was! It was not the house. Oh God, it was not the house.

—

My feelings have settled. They lie like sediment at the bottom of a container, and now the water is clear. I’m having wine right now. Praying that I don’t spill it on this diary. I am out on the patio, sitting on the faux grass writing this. I feel wronged. I feel like something spiteful is smoldering in my chest. I gave up my garden. My gorgeous garden, my zinnias and asters and irises and PEONIES! My fucking peonies! Peonies don’t do well with fucking transplanting for fuck’s sake. Maybe if I had more time, put them in pots for a while… but my peony bushes are large and lush, and they were special. Oh my god. No, I won’t let go of my peonies. I won’t let go of them. I have to talk to Simon and find out what I need to do to keep them. Gave up my peonies and the problem wasn’t even the damn house, haha! Stupid!

21/11/2017

I should burn this fucking diary. I should. I keep rereading my previous entries and laughing at myself. Laughing harshly at my stupidity. I think I can save my peonies. It’ll be a bit tough, but Simon says he will see what he can do. He’s a good man, I should increase his wage. I also bought a pack of Sobranie yesterday. I haven’t smoked in years because it obviously wasn’t good for him. Well, today I had some wine and smoked on the patio while staring out into nothing. I hate this house. I don’t know if I hate this house or if I hate the circumstances I came into it, but I don’t want to spend any time in it. I guess now we’re similar in that regard, he and I! I miss the light and warm colors of my home. Shades of white and tan. They were relaxing, they were freeing. So I’ve been spending as much time as I can outside. I’ve attended every single event the ladies from cooking club held. Went to Barbara’s brunch, Elise’s fundraiser, Genevieve’s dinner party. They all think I’m a darling who wants to really integrate myself into the group, and fine, that will do. The book club ladies are happy as well, and I’ll read any book they suggest at a cafe or in the park. I asked my kickboxing coach if it’s too late to begin training seriously, and he was ecstatic. So now I spend hours there. But at the end of the day, I have to come back here to sleep, and I want no part of it. I don’t want to do that. Right…right wait, I don’t have to do that. Why didn’t it ever occur to me that I needn’t sleep here? If he doesn’t have to, then neither do I.

Read the next entry here