Our lives have been usurped. It’s like a hostage feeling. We are exhausted. Seven weeks of dealing with a baby that doesn’t speak our language.
Seven weeks of making him the priority.
Seven weeks of our priorities being revoked.
Seven weeks of isolation.
Seven weeks of hard training. For both dog and human.
Love has gotten sick.
I had a panic attack yesterday.
We are not happy right now.
Why is this so hard?
We moved to the beach to have a better life — bike rides, dinners out, hangouts, more yoga, friends around.
Now we feel old and unhappy; by 8p we want to crawl up and sleep.
Art has taken a backseat.
It kills me.
It’s breaking my heart.
Something has got to change.
Something has got to give.
I need perspective.
I need some clarity.
I need a massage.