It's Not Your Fault

Who knew that there were about a trillion moho blogs? I never knew. I guess I have a couple of letters to thank... or the writers. And for you, if you read this: don't stop spewing. It helps. It validates my spewing, and I know my spewing can frustrate.

I love waking up in the morning. I really should just postpone all of my posts until then. I can go to bed feeling like the world is coming to an end and then wake up the next morning and not even remember what I was so worked up about. Things are fine with the guy. I guess I just had to redefine it in my head... well, I'm still in that process. I fit into a different category in his life, I think, and that's ok. In fact, it has to be ok because there isn't much I can do about it to change things. Having said that, I really have no idea what he thinks of me, but I'll let him figure it out.

At least it isn't tearing me up inside. Not for now... hopefully this is a permanent thing. My family had a game night last night. It was hilarious. I've never heard my step-mom say "f---!" so many times. I love her. She is the reason I talk to my dad; she keeps him in line; she makes just as much (and more, now) money as he does, and I think that intimidates him. It isn't like things were with my mom. My mom is smart-- she had a 4.0 when she got her master's and did it all while working full time. But my dad makes more money, and I think he felt like he had some financial leverage or authority to do things he shouldn't. Time to be vague-- sorry. I don't want to think back to those times.

But things are great. I don't know how it happened. I was on my mission... of course... holy crap, can I tell a story where I wasn't on my mission? I was thinking about it. I was talking about it. And, suddenly, I didn't feel angry anymore. Over a couple of years, that bonfire had been dying, and I felt the glow of those last few embers extinguish. I have my step-mom to thank. She stopped him from feeding the fire.

But I digress.... as I am wont to do

The trillion blogs. I felt like I was reading my own posts, like they knew my thoughts. They left the church. Will I, too? But like one of them said, I try to do what is right, and I can feel it tearing me up inside. To live the Gospel is to sacrifice, I know. Where do I go? Well, I'm going to go to church this morning, so I guess that's a start.