Tomorrow. . .is another day

Diary  - Entry 35?

After a restless night, I again, dreamed of him.

I have a recurring theme to my writing. . .the past, needs to always be present.  Why?  I do not know.

The song; Lost by Michael Buble keeps playing in my mind.  If only the words ever really rang true. . .

I have made up my mind in one direction. . .  I am, once this wedding nonsense with Danielle is over, once Hugh is healthy enough to make such a change and I have found where I will be transferred to, I am leaving Memphis.  I cannot tolerate it here any longer. 

The weather is dismal, repressive and terrifying with all the tornadoes.  I hate the cultural climate (a serious lack of. . .is more appropriate).  The politics are a farce and middle class families suffer at the hands of everyone.  Not to mention that I am in a minority. . .in every way imaginable.  It was a horrendous mistake to move back here.  I don't know what I was thinking.. . except possibly, I wasn't.

I do not know if my husband will come with me?   He likes Memphis.  I feel suffocated.  Maybe it is marriage that suffocates me, maybe it's me, maybe it's him, maybe it's this fucking situation that I can't escape. . .

In the last two years I have lost my mother, my brother, a really wonderful sister-in-law, a great friend, my mother-in-law and somewhere along the way. . .my own ability to see things clearly. 

All the while, I have wondered why I am where I am. . . I would like to say I don't remember getting to this point, but you would know I am lying.  Stress, pressure, lack of cooperation, misunderstandings, and being a complete and uncompromising bitch is a good start.

My husband thinks I am beautiful, my clients think I lie when I tell them I am almost 50, my mother hated me, my stepmother was jealous of me and my kids. . .well some know more than others, if they know anything at all.

My friends. . .on the other hand, think I am a Diva.  Some refer to me as "Delta", a few of them call me , affectionatly, "BooBaby" (I have no idea why_ other than the fact that they find me scary?) and then there are those that scream at me as "You fucking bitch". . .affectionatly, of course.  While I answer to all of them, my license plate on my Benz says it all.

Are the moons to bright?  Are the chains to tight?  The beast won't go to sleep. . . .