Dawn's Digression.

Every day when Barney and I drive up in the driveway at home, I look at the mailbox to see if a big envelope is sticking out of it. Sometimes it is, but it is usually just a magazine or a cruise pamphlet. Every day my heart speeds up a little and I get somewhat excited that today might perhaps be the day I finally get that stupid piece of paper in the mail. And it's never there. And every day I'm disappointed. Which is kind of curious to me. Because I fully expect that I will open it, pull it out, look at it, and shove it back in the envelope. Then I'll throw it somewhere completely obvious like the kitchen table or the coffee table in hopes that the muffin will see it. Just so when/if she comments I can be rude and say something like, "Like it matters."

What is my problem? Or I think maybe I'll just take it to my room and then say something to someone else in front of her a week or two later so that she knows I got it and didn't share it with her. How mature is that? It's not. The fact is, my feelings are eternally hurt. This degree was a damn big deal to me. Damn big. Maybe I should have made it a bigger deal. Should have made some of my own fanfare. Should have thrown myself a party. Anyway, my only real point here is that every day I hope it isn't in the mailbox. And every day I convince myself I don't care. Yet I care enough to hurt.

Women. They never make sense.