I get a lot more traffic on this blog when I'm unhappy.
I get it. That's why I have a subscription to US Weekly. It's not that I want to see people fail...it's just that I want to feel like a real person when shit hits the fan. And celebrity shit seems bigger than mine; therefore I feel better that my shit doesn't warrant a cover story in US Weekly.
I'm happy. So, if you don't like that, just stop reading now. I'm not going to dig down to that deep unhappy place to appease the masses. Not to say I won't be unhappy again. So, stay tuned for later posts if that's what you're looking for.
"I was just thinking of you," said the voicemail recording. "I know this is a really hard time for you. Just call me when you get a chance."
Today is July 16th. Years ago (maybe even last year) I was detailing how agonizing this date was for me. This was the day of the accident. Tomorrow would be the full day at the hospital. The next would be the day he died.
Eight years ago.
And I almost forgot.
It's here, I know it is. But somehow it doesn't hurt quite as much. It's not crippling. It's here and I can give it a slight nod as it passes...and not fall down, gripping its ankles like a person life forgot as I did before.
And I'm happy.
To quote my children: "Whaaaa...?"
I know. I feel the same way.
If someone had told my shaky, nauseous self last year that this anniversary was going to pass with barely a tremor, I would have said, "Girl, you're crazy."
Actually, it probably would have been more like, "Shut the f--- up and hand me a bucket."
But that's where I am. No bucket. No shakes. No nauseous. I'm living a whole new life I didn't even know was out there. It has nothing to do with finding a new relationship. I'm alone and I like it. The kids are the same; driving me crazy one minute and endearing the next. I've stopped waiting for my life to begin and for the first time in eight years I actually feel like I'm living it.
I'm in it.