38 Might Not Be My Year

Ok. So I spent my 38th birthday at a funeral for the father of a dear friend. The month that followed was a blur of me being stupid busy, J being stupid busy and neither of us being able to communicate without snapping at each other. You all know where that led. J left me after letting me know that he was no longer in love with me and hadn't been for a while. Must have been a relief for him to jump out of that particular emotional closet. Well now, as I type, I am reminiscing about my day. For the first time in my life, I walked a picket line. Yup. The union that I'm a part of is on strike and it looks like this might take a while. So now as I walk for 4 hours everyday--back and forth across the same stretch of road, occasionally switching direction to relieve the monotony--I wonder...what else will there be? Its not that I'm trying in any way to tempt fate or anger higher beings. Its just that as I'm walking this particular street corner--and my strike pay is far less then your average hooker I'd imagine--I am beginning to take this personally. I count my blessings, and I have many to count: beautiful and healthy children, pretty good personal health, an unextinguished sense of humour (bizarre as it might be) ... but, blessings aside. Can I say without courting further personal chaos that the past few months have frankly sucked? I'm sure that things could get worse so I won't even ask. I'm hoping that they will get better. At least I didn't get a parking ticket today having had to park off campus in a 2 hour lot. At least there was coffee made available. At least my shift allows me the time to drop off and pick up my children from school. At least I seem to be able to count on the very least. At least.