I realized today that I have been beating myself up for living. For living a life that is "calm" by some standards. For spending snowy nights curled in blankets and watching streaming television shows. For sleeping in until 11am. I feel guilty because of these things--when truly I should be embracing the happiness they bring me.
I love having a short to-do list and deserting it in order to daydream. I love staying up late, waking up to watch the sunrise, and then going back to bed again. I love musing about intricacies of my mister. These are the things that make my life whole. Is it stable? Is it predictable? Would anyone else be happy with the haphazard way I live? No. Yet I am me, and I am going to stop apologizing and feeling guilty for the pleasures that I take in life.
I have been good at this for quite some time in one regard. I have never felt bad for being a mistress. I have embraced the smiles and fluttering love that is what is forbidden. I have read into sparkles in eyes that can scientifically not be read into. I have looked up photos of the wife and felt anger and jealousy. If not for emotions what is life anyhow?
The last man I was in a serious relationship with had a clinical bout of adventure syndrome. If he wasn't out and discovering and taking risks at all times he did not feel alive. I took a lesson from him and ended up feeling guilty when I "did nothing" all day reading a book. Yet, books take me on journeys I have always longed to be on, and let my mind dream. I love a good back country hike as much as the next outdoor lover, but I love those books too.
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