Here I sit on December 21st. Christmas shopping - done. The dryer's running, but otherwise, the house is quiet. I'm a little chilly, but figure I can tough it out because I don't want to get up for a blanket. And my husband is in jail. I repeat - my husband is in jail. Words I never thought would apply to me.
I knew nothing of this life or things like it. I didn't know this existed. I had no idea.
Kind of like my husband's addiction. I had no idea.
There were a few red flags, but I wrote them off. I didn't know people could look at you and lie like that - handsome people who said they loved you.
I'm supposed to visit him today. I wonder what it will be like. Is it like the airport? Do I go an hour early because I'll have to wait? Will I get patted down? Do I have to take my shoes off? Should I leave my purse in the car or take it in with me? Should I try to look pretty for him or just go with the day-to-day look?
I can't stand it anymore. I'm getting a blanket.
My blanket. I love my blanket. I sound like a 3 year old. But, seriously - it's soft, warm, cozy, and dependable. It's everything a blanket should be. I bought it when choosing my "college dorm decor" after high school.
Even in our kind size bed, we were still using two twin blankets. Was that bad? Was that some indication that we hadn't really accepted our married state? Should that have been a red flag? I thought we just agreed that we didn't like the top sheet, but maybe it was deeper. Maybe it was a metaphor that we couldn't let go of our separate wants and put unity above our desires. Then again, maybe it's just stupid blankets.