bouncing back

Here I am wasting time again at work, when I really should be grading, planning--all the usual stuff I supposedly get paid for. Instead, I'm browsing diaries and drinking coffee, all of which I will regret as soon as the first round of students comes in the door.

I feel scattered and unclear on where to start to clean up the mess that is my life. This weekend was odd and uncomfortable--with Joe and I barely connecting until 2 in the morning Saturday night. I'm not bouncing back from the hurt as quickly any more. I can't just forgive and move on. I wonder how much longer I will take the bs, how much longer I'll be able to love him.

I'm seeing the therapist solo this week for the first time. Friday I had so much I wanted to tell her that I felt I would burst. Now I feel confused, like I don't even really know where to start. It all feels so big and beyond me.

And then this thing happens with Rhonda at work and I feel almost petty for obsessing over Joe and his shit. Her husband is in the hospital, critically ill, scheduled for surgery tomorrow. She's three months pregnant, and she lost her last baby in the fifth month 2 years ago. It all seems so unfair--why can't the universe allow anyone to just be happy? She was so excited about the pregnancy, and now she's afraid for her husband's life. She's already planning to be out for the next three weeks and just how good could all this stress possibly be for her right now?

I have moments of happiness and contentment, but they're so far apart and so fleeting now. And part of me feels that even those are illusion--they are moments when everything looks and feels the way it should between Joe and me. But the harsh reality that underlies it all is always there, and always will be. I wonder if his internet infidelity will ever truly be a thing in the past--something so old that it doesn't really have the power to hurt anymore. I thought we were heading in that direction--he made it for months without one slip--and now here we are again, back where we started.