Or the last 10 years, which is how long I have now owned my house that still doesn't have a decent kitchen. Or the last 20, which is how long I have been dealing with a debilitating medical condition that may now turn out to have been something else all along.
In the intervening time, the year, the 10 years, 20 years, nothing has gone the way I thought it would. When I was 21 I certainly never imagined myself in this place. A year ago I didn't imagine myself in this place. A year ago I hoped desperately things would be different, that with love and hope and good intentions they would be fixed. To all intents and purposes they are not.
I have a couple of new friends, some new social outlets, have re-engaged with my love of sewing, have found that my daugher loves me fiercely and I her, and that I will do anything - absolutely anything - for my kids.
The thing I wanted most to change hasn't, and I'm not really sure where the hell I can go from here. I am in quicksand, and I'm sinking.
