I just can’t let myself think. To sit and write about my life is just depressing so why do it. I’ve been spending my time listening to steamy as hell audio books that make me gasp and hold my breath like I’d always wished a man could do lol. Pop an ear bud In so I’m not embarrassed when the boys emerge from their rooms. I can still clean, cook , sew or play games while doing it too. It’s been great. I realize that as much as I wish the love like is in these books was real I know it’s not. Love living in them for a while though. It is sad to realize that at just about 50 years old now I’ve given up on ever being happy with another person. I wasted that time. I wasted my youth. My body, my heart. I can’t regret it, I have awesome kids, even if my oldest turned snowflake and won’t talk to me anymore for caring about my own feelings for once. At this point in my life, I can be a little selfish.