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 My husband accuses me of being perpetually unhappy and unsatisfied. And I'm afraid he might be right. I am unhappy and unsatisfied. And I want to blame him, but if I'm honest, I'm not sure that's fair. In fact, the only time I remember actually being happy for a longer period of time, is when I wasn't in a relationship. Which I think about often. What if I'm not meant to be together with someone? I do get annoyed and fed up and want to run away quite often. Might have something to do with hormones, I'm not sure. I just want to be free and run wild and not accommodate anyone else but me. I want to flirt endlessly with anyone, with life in general. I want to soar!

But here I am, stuck in this life I chose. Because I did chose this for myself. I went to look for a partner, said yes to moving in together, getting married. Sometimes I look back and it feels as if someone else made all those choices. 

Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, my house, and my life in general. I just want to run away from it all sometimes. Do you get that as well or is it just me? It feels wrong to want this. It feels as if I don't appreciate everything I have. Which I do. I have a good life. I just want more freedom. To talk to whoever I want, flirt with whoever I want, maybe fuck whoever I want. But probably, when I might achieve any or all of those things, they won't satisfy me anymore as well.

What is wrong with me? Why can't I just accept life as it is and do the motions and be content...? I feel like most people are able to just live and accept and move through life. Just work, and kids, and hobbies and ageing and dying... It sounds so.... average. Nothing wrong with that, right? Just life.

No, not me! I go crazy at the thought of doing just that. I need colour and taste and experiences. The problem with that is that when I've experienced something, done something, it gets ticked off a list. And isn't special or new anymore after that. And I search for the next high. It's a good thing I'm afraid of drugs and heights.... I might be doing some actual crazy shit otherwise. So there's some luck.

But it still leaves me with this feeling inside me, this urge to go and DO SOMETHING. To soar to unbelievable heights (metaphorically.) I'm my own worst enemy, as any of my former therapists will confirm. 

I often long for simpler times, maybe just because the choices were limited then. This is life, this is what you do and you find joy in small things. Especially as a female. Not in this day and age, you can dream big! And if you work hard, you can make all your dreams come true!! Who the hell came up with that idea...? It makes life so much harder. Because if I work the hardest I can, I will just keel over and feel shitty. And then have to climb back up again. Not soaring or achieving dreams, heartache and broken dreams.

Doesn't help that my body is faulty I suppose, it just doesn't work like it should. Seems like half the time I'm battling my own body instead of living life. 

But we soldier on, as best we can. Writing blogs when we should be in bed, sleeping... Stuff like that. 

On this Beltane eve, when we celebrate new beginnings and the start of things growing again and preparing for summer. I'm burning incense to shoo away the mosquito that kept me awake half the night last night. At least I'm burning something, right?

Oh well. If you're still reading this, thanks for staying and listening to me whine (again.) Drop a note if you like, I'm always curious about who actually reads the shit I sling onto the web.

With love, and many thanks,

Mae