A year ago I had two children, a decent job with good career developing opportunities, and a stressed marriage. Here I am now, almost 30 years old, with no job, one less child than a year ago, and a frazzled marriage (I guess some things don’t change easily). I’m “supposed” to be enjoying the rise of my career, the development of my children, and the fruits of my marriage. At this point in my life I’d love to own something larger than my Nissan Altima, like a little condo or house, or at least have a masters degree.
I feel like I’m getting older, but not getting closer to achieving anything. My favorite authors are around the same age as me, and what is happening to my career? Where are my opportunities? I feel like God owes me something after taking Vincent (and I guess my job too) from me. (I know he doesn't, my theology isn't that bad, it's just what I FEEL like.)
What am I supposed to do now? Read mystery books all day long? Write journal entries that no one is going to read? I’m mad and frustrated and lonely. And frickin‘ devastated.
God, please open an window for me before I suffocate in my own crap.