Back to Blogging

I don't even know why I'm writing after so long. I am so tired. Well, I do know why I'm writing again, but I'm denying the reason because it is stupid.

Mononucleosis, otherwise known as the illness that shreds my life to pieces, is forcing me to evaluate my goals. I'm not as independent as I thought I was—one little Epstein-Barr virus comes along, and suddenly I cannot walk to work, much less walk to work and then stay there all day working. This not-making-money thing will make the not-being-able-to-walk-to-the-grocer thing much easier to handle, since I'll know that I can't afford food anyway. Now I know that I want a career with benefits—sick pay and health insurance—even if I spend my entire life in bureauacracy. My foolish dreams of self-employment and fancy-free freelancing have been dashed to pieces by an army of abnormal lymphocytes.

The most important thing mononucleosis has pointed out to me is that the relationship I'm in is no good. Healthy Beth can ignore the deep pit-of-her-stomach wrongness, but wrongness is all sick Beth does feel. He doesn't treat me right, and he isn't the kind of man I'd want to spend my life with. Why is it so hard for me to tell him that? Tonight I felt so terribly sick that I was cranky enough to start telling him.

And why can't I stop thinking about the man who left?