Babbling babies, originally written July 2012.

See the disclaimer here.

No date given.

I cried tonight. It was an ugly cry, as Emily Maynord calls it. I can't help it. I hate myself for it. It's probably not helping. But really, I can't help it. It's so frustrating to have one goal in your life, for all of your life, and then not be able to reach it. I tried gin and limonatas earlier, to distract my mind, but I think it may have made it worse. Now I'm awake, too late at night, pondering whether something's wrong with me. Maybe I should care less. Maybe if I wanted this less, it would happen. Maybe I'm not a good enough person. Maybe I need to pray more. Or maybe this is God's way of punishing me. Or testing me. Or testing my patience. I visited a few psychics there for awhile and one, the last one in fact, admonished me for not being patient. Literally. The psychic scolded me. It was such an uncomfortable experience that I vowed to avoid psychics for awhile. So far, it's worked. So maybe I just need to give it more time. No one tells you how difficult this process is. Oh sure, they tell you the teenage pregnancy horror stories or all about the surprises people never wanted. Those one night accidents. No one tells you about how hard it can be, even when you're young, and you actually want it to happen. How long you will have to wait and how exhausting the unsuccessful months are... and not just for you. My poor husband. It's not his body so he probably only vaguely understands. He has me under strict instructions to "take my notebook and make some tea" tonight. It's probably best this way. My pity party is tail spinning. I hope this has a happy ending, this story of mine. Even as I write this, I'm still hopeful. I still can't accept that it won't happen. The worst case scenario isn't even a possibility in my mind. So really, I'm a babbling baby because I'm frustrated. I. I. I. Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I'm being too selfish. Or maybe the relationship between my husband and I isn't as good as it's supposed to be. This is the problem. You question everything. And because no one talks about this, I have no answers. You can't ignore it. You can't pretend to not care when you do.

This is awful. And now, my tea kettle is screaming at me that it's time to go to bed. I'm sure you probably agree.

It hasn't been a good night, which is quite obvious, so I'll just wish you farewell. Hopefully tomorrow will bring sunnier days.

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