Dirty Little Secrets

Everyone has dirty little secrets.  No one is perfect.  No one, except maybe The Creator.  No, this not a long rambling post on religion or anything like that.  Its actually more about the skeletons in our closets.  The people we were in the past.  I've been dragging my feet with regards to going through my old laptop.  She's been out of commission a long time and its probably high time I went through it.  Part of me doesn't want to.  Part of me does.  Part of me feels like I'll regret it.  Part of me is really hurt by what my husband said to me before going to bed.  Maybe he meant nothing by it.  Maybe he did.  I have no idea.  He basically said that, "You need to tell me the day before that you won't be able to iron my stuff or have a really good reason.  When you have a job, then maybe things will be a little more balanced."

If that doesn't make what little self confidence I had dissolve rather quickly, I don't know what does.  I know I have it pretty good.  I get that.  But at the same time, I don't think he's ever been down that dark road where you wake up in fear every morning.  When the place where you're being bullied is the same as your home.  I'm sure my grammar is awful here, but I don't care tonight. 

I found old pictures of my husband before he met me.  He had those things on his sides that make girls stupid (as so eloquently put by 2 Broke Girls).  He's standing in front of a mirror preening for the camera.  I don't know why it bothers me.  Maybe I'm vain.  (Ha!  I'm one to talk....)    I know I'm not the prettiest girl out there, but I sure as hell try.  That picture makes him seem like someone kind of cold and detached.  He reminds me of Barney Stinson in the photo.  "Look at me.  I'm hot and I know it." (His internal dialogue maybe.)  All I know is that when I was single, I was looking for love.   I wanted to be loved.  I don't know why it bothers me.  I know it shouldn't.  I just don't get it.   Damn you skeletons in the closet.  I wish you'd stayed hidden.

-Cookie