I thought I knew what I was doing here. "Here" meaning here in my life, not here on this blog. Though they feel like one in the same these days and I just want to strip myself all the way to honest.

The closer I come to reconstructing my relationship with Sam, the further I want to run from it. He's been doing almost everything right these days, comes to my rescue anytime I call.

Paid my Internet bill last weekend when the WiFi was disconnected, even though he can't pay his own bills this month. And I let him. And I hate myself for it.

Took care of me and my 102 degree fever on his birthday when I'd been sick and broke all week. I showed up at his house with nothing, didn't have a dollar to buy him a card or the strength to make one.

Next morning he gave me flowers for Roxie's birthday, like he does. Always gives me a gift on the girls' birthdays. I couldn't get out of bed that day, but it was only half flu — the other half equal parts depression and self-loathing.

When I finally fully awakened, all I really wanted was to go home. When I got home all I really wanted was to go back to his house. Followed that misguided instinct right back across town.

Just keep circling round, restless and running on a fuel tank of indecision. Thing is, my decision's made, been made for years, and I keep refusing it. I just keep trying to one day wake up content.