I confess that I did not write not one single time last week, nor did I read anything anyone else wrote and I feel like an ass about it.
I confess that I ate McDonald's twice this month and I feel like a big fat pig about it.
I confess that I do actually look for the pediatric orthopedic surgeon at CC's Coffee house in the morning, just hoping I might run into him. I love that he wears work boots with his scrubs. I confess that I have a fetish for work boots.
I confess that I'm keeping the tall dark handsome one around because I love his ab muscles and quite frankly I didn't ever think I'd see those again. Jesus, the thought of giving that up, well, I confess that I know it's inevitable.
I confess that the divorce was selfish and I've caused my kids to suffer for my happiness and that makes me feel like a terrible mom.
I confess that I have no fucking idea what I'm doing at work and trying to fake my way through is exhausting.
I confess that this big beautiful house I wanted might just be too much for me. The thought of sanding it, shoring it, painting it, caulking it, planting it, decorating it, when will I ever have the funds or the time.
I confess that I feel like life is dragging me around by the eye teeth and my feet are having a hard time keeping up and I feel like a big fat failure.
I confess that I'm scared as shit to get on the stage again and it makes me feel like a waste of space.
I was raised a good Catholic girl and I confess that I'm truly great at confessing.