I don't even know where to start, never mind where I'll finish.
I've been writing here for just short of six hundred days and I really don't know why.
The first entry was written for no one, just myself, there was no one else then. This one is written for no one, just myself. There are many eyes and voices now so it is much more difficult, but still just for myself.
The entries in between, whether anyone believes it or not, were for me.
Jokes, silliness, exaggeration, and seriousness, all a pleasure to test myself to try to craft and word, but every one of them marking something important.
Every single start.
Every period of frustration, the occasional exciting and hopeful days, the times when we had to grin and fake smile. The times when I wanted to pull the covers over my head, the insane week long shagging blitzes and the frustrating two week waits. The 15 minute visits to specialists where we went in genuinely excited and came away deflated, empty, fobbed off. The days when we said things to each other that should never be said in a marriage, the days I hated myself for being jealous, for being useless and redundant, being only half. The days I hated everyone around me for no good reason and the days I hated family for what they have. The days I hated reading comments that just don't fix anything, the days I hated reading any words from people who have what I want. The holidays, birthdays, and visits with sadness stuck in my throat. The new starts.
Every single end.
This entry must mark something then. It does.
It marks that in just seven days or so, we will once again scratch the ticket and see if we win, for the twenty third time.
It marks that I know what the chances are, marks an air of resignation.
It marks being annoyed at unimportant things, and therefore at myself, frustation at one thing sparking frustration at another, going in circles, chasing my own tail.
It marks remembering that this is no circus, and it's not a place where answers are found. No party tricks, no flag carrying, no spokesperson, no wisdom, no expert, no specialist. Whatever entertainment or expertise that exists here is just a bi-product of a personal account of something all consuming, marking and recording days and events leading only up to a date that may, or may never come.
It marks personal uncertainty.
