Now that I told y'all about the fabulous plans for my birthday, I suppose the expectation is to hear about all I got done during my quiet afternoon alone with my sewing machine and Dr. Pepper.
Well, it didn't happen. It sorta got forgotten and things got a little crazy and tense and disappointing. Suffice it to say, I spent the evening of my birthday eating a McDonald's cheeseburger in my car. By myself. My kids didn't know it was my birthday. My mom forgot too. At least, no phone call or Facebook message. My dad remembered. I know I should have just thrown a party for myself, but darn it, I'm tired of doing that. I read about women whose husbands go all out. I want one of those birthdays.
I'm not asking for your sympathy. I'm writing this as a therapeutic process. I think in the blogosphere we can be a little fake, or at least we don't shine a light on the difficult challenges we face. I can't do that this week.
Hi, my name is Jennie and I have a difficult marriage. No, that doesn't make me special or even unusual. This goes beyond my birthday, trust me. There are unresolved mental health issues we have to deal with.
So please never think that life is great over here. I struggle with a lot. Sewing is my happy place. I do it because playing around with fabric and colors and patterns makes me happy. It's not an escape, but it is something that's mine.
I did get some sewing done over the last few days. But it was my regularly interrupted sewing. You know the kind: mom-he-hit-me/Caroline-is-on-the-table/what's-for-dinner/Henry-spilled-milk-on-the-floor/the-toilet-is-clogged sort of sewing.
And now the guilt gifts are coming. I don't like the guilt gifts. And I think they are fabric ones, which will only serve to remind me of the miserable birthday I had.