I've often wondered why my happiness is never allowed to continue for a period of time without something happening to squash it.
With all the not-great things that have happened in my life, with deaths and floods and car accidents, with the broken noses and ankles and other injuries, with the lost loves, with the job that makes me want to take a break from everything sometimes, I've wondered why I am so unlucky.
The thing is, I am happy, maybe even lucky. Perhaps not in everyone's definition, but I really do like my life. I have an amazing family, wonderful friends, the best dog on the planet, and I even like my job most of the time.
My sense of unlucky and unhappy lately seems to stem from one thing. The lack of someone with whom I can share this wonderful life I've made for myself or happened into.
I thought I had maybe found him. And that makes it worse somehow. But he's not the same guy I thought I had found. And I'm not sure if I want someone to share it with so much that I'm willing to be unhappy waiting for him to figure out if he wants to share it with me.