When a man isn't enough

I am bawling my eyes and heart out. He is in and out of sleep. He's tired. I'm having a meltdown. He understands. Simply so. I need to plough further, dig deeper, talk longer. Wash, rinse, repeat. He summarizes in three sentences and falls back asleep. I feel worse.

I am getting angry. I want to break something. Anything. Everything. Even my vows. It lasts for 6 seconds. Then I get sad again. The twat starts to snore. I sniffle.

If I had a car I would jump in it and drive to Rootical Flava or Montego Bay. But I don't have a car and even if I did, I still wouldn't be able to drive far enough to reach Jamaica.

I am homesick, worksick, soulsistasick all in one.

I just have too much damn time on my hands and not enough to do with it. If we were married longer and we more financially stable, I would have a baby. That is what people do when they have time to fill.

I need a car. Hands down. Sedentariness is killing me. I have had a car ever since I was 22 and now, the lack of mobility has gotten to me, dropping the weight of an anvil on my shoulders almost overnight.

I could do more, see more, enjoy more if I were not immobile. This is not a country to live without a car. Surely you can exist without one, but "live," no.

I need estrogen. Only estrogen can really deal with estrogen. Only estrogen can allow you to bawl your eyes out and then feel better in 10 minutes flat. Testosterone only manages to turn a 10 minute meltdown into a weekend long affair.