This is not the Pity Plog. I realized something today though that I want to toss out there. I'm not alone in this feeling.
Since getting together with Marty, I've almost always done and gone where he wanted to do and go. I moved to New York. I changed my religion (but not my name). I had children. The children have been the other major factor in why I don't usually make decisions based on what I myself want, but about what my family wants. We have moved due to Marty's job. We have moved to towns where the schools are good. In short, I'm living the suburban nightmare (for me), although only for two more days. Hooray. I've gotten to do some awesome things during this time (live in Costa Rica, travel), but we're talking about a few bones in a 35-year span.
Don't cry for me Costa Rica. This past Sunday, a wish came true for me. I moved into a Manhattan apartment, and while it's a fact that I'm moving to NYC for Marty's job, I'm not living in Brooklyn, which is where Marty and nearly all our friends thought it was the sensible (and cheaper) choice. On Saturday, we pack up this mad existence for a small house in a small town in the Catskill Mountains of New York State. It will be our weekend retreat. The best part about it is that I can walk to town, and all the services I need. No more driving three miles for milk.
The moral of the story is, if there is one, every dog will have its day. This is my day, baby