I feel a storm brewing. It has been quietly building up and I know it’s going to come down heavy and destructive. I am feeling low. My body senses the storm and hits me with physical exhaustion, even though my mind is fully alert.
Barely husband snapped at me yesterday. It was quick and not too hard, but he did. It was because of my phone; or my constant use of it. He called it my obsession, his choice of word when he wants to say it’s something I like that’s bothering him. Like my obsession for books, my obsession for a certain cooking show and now my obsession for my phone.
It’s not the phone itself, obviously. It is brand new after my disaster a couple of weeks ago and, granted, I love it because it’s fast and with lots of free memory to follow my ‘3Ws’ : What’sApp, Wattpad and WordPress.
I have discussed at length my love for writing and how I pour my heart into my book at Wattpad; How I struggled to get it noticed but is now slowly building a following and how the accepting comments make me happy more than anything.
You all know my love for WordPress and my blog that you are now reading; How my Diary exposes my innermost feelings that I don’t tell anyone about. I mean it! NO ONE knows my struggles linked to my true identity, except for my daughter, who is not old enough to bear her own problems by herself, let alone carry mine.
The third ‘W’, What’sApp, started before the other two. An old school friend contacted me to ask if I’d like to be part of the recently created high school class group. I thought it would be fun getting back in touch with them and I was right. Most of the time we have fun conversations and reminisce about our school days and laugh at the stories and my elephant memory that seems to recall facts that everybody else has forgotten.
There have been times when heated discussions have taken over, usually with the same person involved: an idiotic, self-centred, stuck up his arse guy who thinks he’s an expert on every possible subject on Earth and who does not accept other’s opinions. When he’s writing his endless ramblings, I tend to zone out and skip most of it, but once he started on a homophobic rant and when he wrote ‘because arseholes don’t reproduce’, I lost it. Well, he reproduced (hehe!).
Thankfully I was joined in my combat by 3 other girls in the group. We hit him so hard that he left the group. Unfortunately he has returned recently and, last night, started a rambling about a so called ‘feminazi’ group preaching some sort of lesbian interaction. So no wonder I was glued to my phone, just waiting for the igniting factor to my explosion. Barely husband was not happy with it, even though we were already eating dinner that I prepared and he could give me a couple of minutes slack to check the conversation, but that wouldn’t happen, would it?
One of the 3 girls managed to handle the idiot with a stern warning and reminder that this type of conversation drove him away last time. Part of me wishes she hadn’t because I was ready to let some steam out. Maybe it was for the better…
Anyway, my point is that these girls have been the closest things to ‘real’ friends I have (real as in someone who knows my identity) and I’m seriously considering opening up to one of them, but I don’t want to be a burden – I apologise to you all, my readers, who carry it with me instead.
There’s the added complication of us living in 4 different towns across 3 different countries (yes, our little group has spread all over the world), but I feel the need to talk to someone. Actually talk.
I’m bottling up again and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hang on. I’m not sure I’ll draw up the courage to uncork the bottle before it’s too late either.