Sitting here, at a laptop I didn't buy, on a table I didn't choose, drinking diet Dr. Pepper from a glass that I did buy... at a dollar store. This is my life. I work a nine hour day and have to be on the freeway for three and a half hours to do it. I get up at six o'clock in the morning and leave for work by seven-thirty to get home at eight and be in bed, hopefully, by eleven. Just to do it all over again...
Why?
Because this is my house (okay, apartment and it's a rental) and it's my home. I live here. The woman that lived here first invited me into her life and does things for me every day to prove to me that she loves me. The kids actually tell me they love me and they mean it. Teenagers don't tell anybody they love them unless they want something. I should know, I was a teenaqer, once, briefly... a lifetime ago.
My home, my family, my life. I accept it, I work for it and I need to appreciate it for what it is. A blessing. So tonight I'm grateful. I'm loved. I'm safe. I'm tired and I'm going to bed. My bed. That's all I need.
