Workaholic

I was looking forward to my days off, which would have been tonight and tomorrow night, but my boss strongly suggested that I come to work tonight…Thus I will only have one night off this week. I have already pulled a lot of overtime for this pay period, but I can use the money. It is the difference between paying the bills and being able to eat or paying the bills and not being able to eat. The problem that I have with staying one, two, or three hours late and with going in on my days off is that I lose a lot of sleep, to say nothing of my lack of a social life. I haven’t seen Robert in a few days. Sometimes we go a whole week without so much as a hello. I sometimes wonder why he went through all the trouble to move down here if we are just as distant as we would have been when we were living miles away from each other. I wonder why I keep going back to him time and time again. I wonder if I really love him in the first place. I wonder if he really loves me or if it is just something that he says to make me happy. I wonder if either one of us even knows what love is. I wonder if I will ever be happy with what I have. I wonder if I will ever have children of my own. I wonder if Robert will father those children. I wonder where I will be in ten, twenty, thirty years. I wonder if I will ever stop hurting. I wonder a lot of things, but I should not think so much. My friend Paul says I think too much. He is right, of course, but it hurts me to hear it. He says a lot of things that hurt me to hear. Why do I spend time with people who are insensitive to my feelings? I mean, there is Robert, who thinks of himself ninety-nine percent of the time. Then there are my guy friends, who are attracted to women like the Barbi twins and it bothers me, because I know I will never be like that. No matter how much weight I lose, no matter how much muscle toning and tanning and plastic surgery I could do, I will never be those women. Why does it offend me when guys talk about women like that? Why do I get so sensitive about stupid things like that. I am overweight, but there are those I know who weigh much more. I could be sexy if I tried, but I would never be a Barbi, and that makes me cry sometimes. Sometimes I wish I could be a cruel and heartless bastard like most men are, but how could I do that? LeAnn RimesOh, I really should have known, by the time you drove me home, by the vagueness in your eyes, your casual good-byes, by the chill in your embrace, the expression on your face that told me you might have some advice to give on how to be insensitive.

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