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happy, with our little boy.
    You know, I always imagined the ridiculous fairytale that all little girls dream of. I dreamed it and I waited for it. I hoped for it. I practically begged for it a time or two. It’s tough to admit, but I wanted him to want the middle-American dream like I did. Like I still do, I suppose. Not that it matters now anyway. He’s gone. I’ve got a handsome, incredible little boy to show for it all and it’s so much more than I could ever ask for. I’ll be fine and so will Trey. We’ll be fine together. We always have been.
    I wish that in some alternate reality, Russ was the one I fell for in college. If I could, I would go back in time and make it so that he was the one who took my virginity that night, that it was him who gave me the most invaluable gift I’ve ever been given. Russ would’ve stayed and made a go of it and by now we’d be married with 2.5 kids, a house, a yard, and maybe even a dog. We’d have a life together; a happy, stable, normal life.
    But that’s not the case. Instead, there’s AWOL Jonathan and phantom Russ who I’m too scared to go for. I wish I wasn’t. Jonathan has never been there. Not during midnight feedings. Not when I was feeling so frazzled I thought I couldn’t continue with this motherhood thing. Russ was, though. He’s always been there to chat, always there to listen. His open ear has been my saving grace many a hard day and late night. I hope he’ll always be around to be my sounding board. It scares me to think that one day someone else will come along and marry him and bring an end to our chat affair. I’ll be crushed. I’m not even sure that I can think about that right now. My chest feels heavy just imagining some terrible email saying, “I found the one. See ya.”
    -L
     
    I shut off my negative, depressing journal entry and go to bed so that I have plenty of energy tomorrow to worry about being jobless, single, almost thirty, and raising my kid alone. Lovely.
    I draw in a deep breath. It hits the bottom of my lungs and helps to chase away the train of thought that would almost certainly lead to a night full of gloomy dreams of me knitting the world’s largest sweater, alone, with 67 cats and a son who never visits his weird mother.
    I lean over and take a sip of the water on my nightstand to wash down the birth control that I don’t really need and the sleep aid that I do. I plug in my cell phone and burrow beneath my covers. Sleep comes easily. Thank you, Ambien.

 
     
    Morning arrives far too early. The alarm buzzes incessantly and feels like life screaming, “Wake up, Linds! Make everything okay for another day!” Truth is, sometimes I just want to lie in bed and feign ignorance. I want to forget the rent, the bills, the knocking in my car’s engine reminding me of the oil change that it desperately needs. Mostly I want to forget that somewhere inside of me craves fulfillment so fiercely that I find it hard to breathe. I want to forget that I keep wondering if this is this it. Is this all life has for me? Is this as good as it’s going to get?
    I roll over and grab my cell phone to shut off the alarm only to find a text from Russ. Good morning. Hope you have a good day at work.
    A sleepy smile eases across my lips as I type out my reply. Ditto! I caved and gave him my cell number years ago but insisted that we use only texting and instant messenger to talk. He’s respected it. It speaks volumes to me that he hasn’t once crossed the line.
    My feet hit the floor but I stay perched on the edge of my bed like I do every morning, especially when I’m more stressed out than normal. This is my “me” time. I grip the edges of the mattress and stretch my toes, roll my ankles, and pop my neck, making sure to breathe deeply as I do it. Another deep breath through my nose and slowly out of my mouth.
    I whisper my reassurance to my lonely bedroom intent on surviving yet another day. “Today will be a great