Running Ruston Way


Day three of the fitness challenge feels like more life being more life. I made myself eat lunch, barely. Right now I have a wad of chicken breast sitting on my desk and an apple I started to eat at some point. I could have sworn I grabbed a fresher one, but I suppose this one will do. Never mind. I just spit the apple back into my hand. It was mushy and I hate my apples that way. Maybe I should brew some coffee instead? I have no idea where I put my water. I really need to drink more water. I also need to go to the gym and get my workout in. At least I am already covered in sweat.

I just got done scrubbing the carpet of a house that is not mine. I say scrubbed instead of shampoo because that is how it went down. I was on on my hands and knees for more than an hour trying to will the carpet new again. While I cleaned I thought about the man who owns the house. I thought about how much I miss him. I thought about how much I love him and then I thought myself stupid because he does not, nor will he ever feel the same way about me.

“Maybe he will change his mind…”

Of course my heart wants him to change his mind and then my pride is angry because my ego has been rejected too many times to be prissy and prime. I want to snub my nose in the air like I can do better and he can’t. I want it to be true, but it isn’t. You can’t do better than love. I love him and that love wants his joy more than my own, but is it OK when I cry to see that he does not care to stop all the tears that fall in his absence?

I was happy here in this house that is his and the life I thought we were sharing. My hearts biggest frustration was that I had not met him sooner and before he had a son with his last wife. His son is a radiant soul, but the mother of his son was and is perpetually cruel. I feel sad that he is stuck with needing to deal with her toxic ramblings and even more sad that there was a time he loved her so much he not only married her, he loved her to the want of their eventual son.

He loved Cruella Deville, but he broke up with me. What does that say about my soul? I try not to take it personal, but I do. I try not to stay attached, but I am. I am having a really hard time knowing that I am going to need to let go of this life, of this love, and of this house with dirty carpets and the gardens that we’ve been planting these years. It took us years to make US home. Now I am just a woman who cleans carpets. Somebody that he used to know.

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