It’s been a helluva week.
I turned 33 on Tuesday, and I have to say that I’m pretty damned sick of getting older. Getting older wasn’t supposed to happen to me. It was only supposed to happen to those around me, while I Dorian-Greyed myself through the next several decades. Needless to say, I find the fact that I’m not to be totally unfair, and I’m looking for someone to sue.
I’ve also had some emotional ups and downs in regular life, too. I’ve begun to feel a great swell of guilt about Rebecca and I’s relationship, and I’ve been struggling with wondering if I am dragging her down from leading a better life. We’ve both made some sacrifices to be together, but more and more I’ve wondered if she isn’t sacrificing too much in order to stay with me and maybe she’d be better off leaving me and finding more happiness somewhere closer to her family. In short, I’ve felt like an albatross.
It took me until today to really talk to her about it, and even then I wasn’t sure what to say. Well, to begin with, I couldn’t say much more than “I’m sorry” over and over through my blubbering. I don’t want us to break up, but I don’t want to take the best years of the greatest person I know’s life away from her either. I had imagined for days what it would be like if she admitted I might be right and what it would feel like if I did the stand up thing at that point and let her go. I’m just grateful that it didn’t play out that way, because for the last couple of days I was pretty sure it would.
I also had a horrendous week at work, and my emotional distress at home caused me to overreact in some stupid ways about other situations as well. So 33 hasn’t gotten off to a real flying start. Maybe I should just hope that I turn 34 pretty soon.