Most days I keep busy enough that I forget about it. Most nights I'm too tired to think anything of it. Mostly I'm okay.
But deep down I am so damn sick of spending my weekends all alone.
As the wind howls and the wine glass empties, I am as lonely as both these things, and on the weekends I feel it so much more. No work distractions, no exhausted body as excuses for going to bed at 9:00 at night. It's these types of evenings that make me feel hollow, a less delicious chocolate Easter bunny. All I know is that I'm having trouble finding things that fill the void.
And that's enough wine-fueled angst for one evening.
No comments:
Post a Comment