Scarlett was right

I started writing at work the other day, but got booted off and couldn't reproduce my original text, so I put it off for a while, but never got back to it. Now I can't even remember what I was writing about.

Logan and I both had birthdays in the past week. No great shakes, either one. No gifts, just good beer and better cake. Logan's was Guinness and Black Forest cake. Mine was pear cider and cherry cheesecake.

Yesterday, Susan and I started a walking regimen, one mile three times a week to start. I had to rest between each quarter mile. My back was throbbing in pain. Susan's calves hurt her, but mine were fine. The back pain felt like two ice picks right where the butt dimples are, though. I did feel good last night, though, and slept very well.

Tonight, I washed dishes and tried to get the kids to help clean house. Logan and I got into a big fight -- I don't even know what started it now. But he let me understand that I am here on suffrance. He says he may put me out on the curb if things don't improve. I seriously have to get back in school and finish my degree so that I can get promoted at work. I need to be able to support myself. In some ways, I feel like I felt when Bill used to tell me that no one would ever marry me except him because I was overweight and wasn't very good looking. I actually had a few moments of feeling suicidal because I felt so helpless.

I don't know if my problem is that I am too literal-minded, I wear my heart on my sleeve, or if I'm just hormonal. The kids would be distraught if I moved out, either of my own accord or if Logan threw me out, and I don't know if Logan would do that to the kids. I also don't know which would win - his temper or his frugality. Would he put my belongings on the curb, or sell them at the flea market?

Well, tomorrow is another day, and I guess I'll drink a cider and think about all this tomorrow. I'm only making myself depressed, picking apart the situation.