Feeling guilty for being happy?
Do you ever feel guilty for being happy when there is so much sadness around you? I watch the news and am horrified and saddened by what’s happening abroad and in America. I listen to the stories of suffering right here in our community with people losing their jobs and trying to figure out how they will take care of their family. Some had to kick off a new project, others were lucky enough to find employment that fit them well.
I watch the news and heart sinks but then I turn off the TV and start making dinner for my family. By the time we’re sitting around the table and having dinner, I’ve pretty much forgotten the misery that a mere hour ago had infested my heart.
Now I’m playing with my little boys and making them laugh by making silly faces. After dinner, we run around and play tag and all fall on the floor in a pile of giggles.
But after the kids are asleep and my head hits the pillow, my mind goes back briefly to the sad news I heard earlier in the day and I feel both sad and grateful. Sad that there is so much suffering and hardship in the world but grateful that I can protect my children from it, for now.
When Dark Moments Disappear In A Flash
I hate it when I get into a rut and start feeling sorry for myself.
It’s never one big thing. More like a bunch of little things that culminate in a dark moment. The moment can last a few minutes, hours or days.
Even in my dark moments, at the end of the day, I go to bed hopeful about tomorrow. Tomorrow there’ll be a chance to feel good, to feel strong, to just feel not sad.
Today I was in a rut. And then I read about an old coworker that just lost one of the twins she had been carrying. The other twin is in the hospital fighting for dear life.
That snapped me right out of my rut and all my petty concerns vanished like a mist in the air.
My heart broke for my old coworker. I can’t even imagine what she must be going through right now.
To have healthy children is a miracle and a blessing and something that I hope I never take for granted. Not even for one day.
My gay boyfriend called me this morning. His cat managed to slip out last night when he went to walk his dog and he wanted me to keep a lookout for her since I live in the building directly across from his. He was worried that she might not come back given her history.
About 6 months ago, when we were still together, my ex found the same cat sitting in the back of his pickup. He brought her in and we fed her. She was extremely skinny so she obviously had been roaming around for a while. She was declawed and spayed and she was very friendly so I felt that she must have been someone’s pet. Unfortunately, she was deathly afraid of our dog who has an unnatural affection for cats, and she bolted out the door the first chance she got. My friend ended up finding her the next day and after failing to find any owners, decided to keep her.
I searched for the cat when I walked my dog but I never saw high or low of her. I was afraid she might have jumped into the bed of someone else’s truck and ended up going for a ride.
About 9:30 tonight, my friend called me to let me know that he found the cat. The conversation went like this:
My gay boyfriend: Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I found my cat this evening when I was walking my dog.
Me: Good, I was worried. I looked for her some today but I didn’t see her anywhere. Where was she?
MGB: She was sitting in the bushes outside the door. I found my pussy in the bushes.
I rolled off the bed and started crying I was laughing so hard. It’s not every day you hear a gay guy say he found pussy in the bushes.