Then it came.
The day.
Today.
Today, I am in Dayton, OH attending the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop. I hope as you read this I am laughing my ass off at the talented and hilarious people around me.
Today is also my baby boy’s birthday.
Then it came.
The day.
Today.
Today, I am in Dayton, OH attending the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop. I hope as you read this I am laughing my ass off at the talented and hilarious people around me.
Today is also my baby boy’s birthday.
Usually, I need to warm up to new music, but every once in a while, I hear a song once and fall in love with it. That is how I felt when I first heard the song Budapest by George Ezra a few months ago. When I heard Budapest a few days ago while driving in to work, I wanted to be driving the opposite direction to the hospital. I hated not being with Randy. I heard this song and started to cry. Honestly, I was ready to cry even without the song, but for some reason, the lyrics tripped the tear ducts. I just missed him so much. I missed him even when I was in the hospital room with him. But for you, I’d leave it all.
I was raised by a narcissist so my mechanism for intimacy is broken. Or at least sprained.
I don’t make friends easily. I have a lot of people who I enjoy being with, but it’s rare that I consider a person a friend. At least, this is what I’ve been telling myself for years.