Lovely Houston…

by shell

What the hell am I doing here still? I should have left ages ago. Its cold, silent wind blows through the trees and lands in my head with a loud thud. This is expectation. I expected myself to change the world, have the perfect family life, be strong enough to take it all on and whined up on top. So here I am at the bottom, I left a good paying job, a fabulous house and the sun for this shit. And for what? So he could pursue his sailing dreams…go after the ideal job then FUCK IT ALL UP and get fired for talking on the phone to his fucking pothead friends while he should have been working. I’m trying to think of where else I haven’t looked for change yet. I’m still a few dollars short and the baby needs milk. She’s freaking out at me, cabin fevered by this small apartment we moved into. She wants outside but there’s no place to play. I have clients calling me about photographs they want me to fix a certain way but don’t want to pay me for the work, I have others who want me to save their business but don’t want to change their current ways…and to do it for cheap. I spent a quarter tank of gas to dropping off a cd since my internet is fucked up. I’ve been screamed at all day by the baby and while I’m here eating leftovers a few days too old to be eating, he’s having blackend catfish and dirty rice at a four star. He, who won’t official marry me and shoved cake in another girls face at our psuedo-wedding. I don’t know if change is even worth it anymore…should I pack up and move back north? Go somewhere noone knows me and disappear? The baby dumped orange kool-aid on the carpet, the top of the highchair and all over herself. I could clean it up but it won’t matter. She’s like her father, everything else will become a mess so why bother anymore.

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