I don't like reading old entries, most of them at least.
They are usually bad attempts at humour, or full of cringe worthy naivety, or plain and simply painful. Those are the worst, the ones where I can read what seems to be someone else talking about hopelessness, seemingly endless.
One year ago today I wrote:
That was our 17th cycle. 10 more failed attempts followed that one.
One year further on, one wedding anniversary further on, we are standing somewhere that feels like the centre of everywhere.
Last year we celebrated our third anniversary with nothing. Sour taste, looming shadows, and no way out.
Next year, our fifth, we won't be alone. Someone else will be living in our house, someone else's clothes with be in the cupboards, someone else's stuff will be cluttering up the hallway.
Can you believe that?
As much as we worked to get here, and even with as much time as we've had over the years to prepare, I still don't really believe it. Every week brings something else that makes my stomach drop just a little. A sign that I'm slowing 'getting it'.
I'm slowly and gradually believing it.
This year we are sitting here, marking our anniversary quietly. Full of expectation in every possible sense of the word.
I'm full of disbelief at how just much disbelief I find myself in. The changes from last year, the changes to next, and the here and now.
Here and now, the centre of everywhere, the spot from where we have the perfect 360 degree view.