For as long as I can remember, every night at 11:11 I make a simple wish: I just wish for happiness.
And now that I’ve told you I guess it won’t come true…
There have been brief moments of happiness in my life. But they never stayed for long. And for the life of me I don’t know who’s fault that is. My therapist tells me that I’m the only one responsible for my own happiness. Which leads me to believe that every time my life turns to shit, I’m the one to blame. I guess it makes sense.
I never wanted to get married and I certainly never intended to become a parent for the second time. All I really wanted was to work, get rich and live my life by my own rules. So just try to imagine how I feel when I sit down on the sofa with my son and look over at my husband, who by the way is currently the only one working.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my son more than life itself but sometimes I want to run away screaming. This was not the life I had planned.
“We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned so that we can have the life that is waiting for us.”
So here I am, living the life that was waiting for me.