Friday night. Was out. Came home when the slow dancing started.
Feeling alone again. Which I hate. Because I hate admitting that weakness in me. Such a horrible little bit of me that I loathe.
One week today til my 39th. Still alone. Year eight. But no one knows it bothers me. If anyone read this blog, I think they'd be completely shocked at how needy I seem. Which generally I'm not.
The dog, the guy, and this week I fractured my tailbone. I'm good. So very good.
Going to grab a dog and head to bed, and try not to cry. Cry for my dog. Cry for what might have been. Cry because my body hurts.
Let's hope it makes me feel better.