Someone told me (okay, the man I'm divorcing) that my standards are just too darn high.
I don't get it. Is it wrong to expect common courtesy from people, support, anything I would give to others? Or I am I the schmuck in the room?
I think about this every time I remember who hasn't called to check in, who hasn't returned a phone call, dropped me a line lately, rambled on about a broken nail when I'm about to climb on a ledge.
Then again, maybe I haven't made myself crystal clear about what an episodically needy bitch I have become, hopefully temporarily. People assume I'm ragingly competent and self-sufficient. Which, to a large degree I (modestly) am. But right now I crave guidance, support. Or maybe just a little chat, where I am reassured that yes, someone in the universe gives a rat's behind. And, unrealistlcally, answers to all my problems and a million dollars, yes. But sometimes I just like to know someone is there if I need them, those mythical people we call "friends."
It's entirely possible it's me. Apparently I suck at "reaching out."
I'll take the million dollars and a cheap roll in the hay. Where in new york do you find hay?
This journal is rated R for Ridiculous!