Depressing day yesterday

My bike broke riding home. I was cold and tired and hungry and I couldn’t ride home in the dark, up five km of steep hill, without gears. Instead, I called my husband and made him come and get me and then rewarded him for his patience by bitching at him all the way home because I wanted to replace the bike the last time it broke and he talked me out of it. Having committed to this riding 44 km round trip to and from work, I resent not getting to do it, even though I loathe it.
There was another thing that my day yesterday depressing. It was Father’s day in the US and Canada, right? My daughter posted a tribute on facebook to the most wonderful, loving, caring and kind man in the world: her father.  Yeah, I had trouble reconciling that with the man I knew. I know I should be glad that he doesn’t show his negative qualities to her (or he does and she is a much more forgiving spirit) but I never had that from him and it makes me sad. He either didn’t think I was worth it or he didn’t develop into that sort of person until I left, in which case I kept those qualities suppressed by my presence. Either way makes me feel dreadful.
And I know damn well that she has never said anything like that about me or even felt like that about me and I feel like I’ve loved her harder and further. I have a severe case of two year old jealousy going on. I suppose it is because in my whole life nobody has ever really loved me enough to put me first.
I’d like to think my current husband does and would.
But honestly? I am afraid to ask because I don’t want to know the answer.

About quirkycharm

I like to think that I have a certain quirky charm but I am probably being optimistic. Acquired taste, perhaps, which many don't acquire. This is about my fifth blog out there. My hosting companies kept going out of business or my IT exhusband kept hacking into them and I would move again. I don't do twitter, I barely do facebook, I don't try and 'monetize' my blog. I love my husband, my grown children and my job and this particular incarnation of oversharing my life comes at a time when I am the most content that I have ever been. I write always, sporadically during the good stuff and exhaustingly during the bad.
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