I put off coming home as long as I could. I have a very caring staff, offers of going out to late night dinner and just talking and hanging out. My husband had texted me that he needed me home, so I declined and left the clinic.

My husband's escape is sleep. He was asleep when I got here, I have not disturbed him, and I'm not going to.

I know I will get through this. I have made that decision. It is not about my step children or my husband. It is about me and my desire for life, for happiness. I cannot do more than give myself to the people I love, all of them. When I respect my efforts toward that, I am free to be myself. There is going to come a time, soon, I pray, that I will have the serenity to simply say to these people what I see. I do it every day with clients, with such difficult and complex issues. There is no logical reason I cannot do it more effectively with the people in my personal life.

The rabbit hole is always there to stumble upon. I am trying like hell to stear clear of it. It is disguised, covered over by leaves or between the roots of something else. The rabbit hole is the place I fall into when overwhelmed with the things with his children that simlpy, on no level, make no sense to me at all. The things that send me into the rabbit hole are so foreign to me that there is no way I can make sense of them.
He is gone from me then, and me from him.
We were not founded upon apartness.
Wonderland is not a nice place.

So here we all go, into the weekend. Some of us hopeful, many of us apprehensive, dreading it. Figuring out what to do with the myriad of emotions we feel. For so many of us, our most basic sentiments toward our days, particularly the weekend days when it is full on with skids, are altered. I remember the days when I just looked forward to open clean weekends. Now I wonder when the inner tension I feel wondering what will happen will ease, become better. I've noticed such a flood of posts on Sunday evenings, reports of how the weekend went.
Here we go . . .