maevegeneva

I might have loved him for the entirety of my life, firmly denying my own unhappiness.  I might have invested ten, twenty, fifty more years in the broken construct of a marriage frowned upon by all logic and love, steadfastly asserting that I was content, had things not changed. Now, I struggle with other obstacles, no other adult in my home, claiming love as the impetus to overrun me.  I am without the boundaries of his claims, struggling with money like always, without the burden of his desires.  I beg, I slog, and I feel more pride in myself - more freedom - than I have in years. Perhaps I should thank him for cheating.  I had no idea ho

Is there anybody in there? Honestly, the only reason I'm writing is that I had an embarassing typo in my last journal.  Yes, this is the "honesty" approach.  As implied by "Honestly" above. My brain is fried.  Sunny side down, not easy over.  Would you like a side of bacon with that? I'm still trying to keep updating this thing enough to get my overstock of sketchiness off the desk and into cyberspace before I lose track of it all.  This with classes and homeschooling my kids and cleaning like a monkey given speed and a bottle of disinfectant.  Come to think of it, the speed would be on the floor and the disinfectant would be swallowed, an

...but we all know that it has nothing to do with the quantity of my art or the frequency of my updates.  These things are determined by a simple formula of laziness multiplied by priority conlicts divided by guilt.  As so: LxPC/G= MaeveArt Antyway...  I'll try to keep after it, but I don't like to waste lies, so, no promises.