I've slept less than six hours in the last sixty-two. In that time I've:
• run 5 miles
• walked 10 miles
• counseled I don't know how many pre-abortion patients
• cleaned my apartment in anticipation of A~'s return from a business trip
• cooked in same anticipation
• received my husband at his return, noted an unfamiliar smell on his clothing
• watched him eat dinner
• listened to him tell me he had sex with his co-worker and wants to continue to be with her
• listen to him admit, in less coherent terms, that he's stayed with me for twelve years, married and agreed to have children, without ever being sure that he wanted to. Because he was afraid to leave, to be alone.
• watched him cry about hurting me, and wondered if I was going to throw up.
• kicked him out of the house. (He's at her place now.)
• been nauseous ever since.
• begun planning the divorce
I guess figuring out how to have a good life, babies or not is not the point anymore. Now its babies and husband or not. It hurts like hell. I'm in shock. I'm every cliche in the book.