This Year, Again


It is less than two hours before I have to pretend to be another person and I hate her. She’s a hypocrite, a fake and a fraud. A want to stay at home with my dog, all the while crying, and wishing the world away. If I am quiet, perhaps I can sleep my life away and not hurt anyone else – mainly me.

Please my baby, let me just stay home with him. He is my heart and soul; he looks out for me while not another soul does.


My “family” in VA wrote to me and I wanted to cry right there and then. It’s dark, I’m exhausted and fatigued. All I’ve eaten is a few blondie bites and my head is spinning.

The facade keeps slipping down my face as I attempt to pretend that the room isn’t closing I on me. That my head isn’t pounding and that I don’t want to go home…. NOW!!!

My British family is lovely, my American siblings are fake and pretentious. I am aching for sleep, my home, my husband and I alone with my baby boy.

How many more hours?



My best friend and I are walking all alone in the frigid cold. There is pan intermittent stream of ice falling from the sky: frozen teardrops mixing withy hair and his fur.

His Mother’s family from England are wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for better, more polite and wonderful people.

His siblings are the plague.


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