Journal Entry #1

I feel like I am living in the sitcom 'Everybody Loves Raymond'. My husband made the mistake of buying land from his best friend. The problem is, he lives next door and comes over whenever he feels like it. He wouldn't dream of calling ahead of time? Why should he? We don't have anything going on in our lives that we couldn't drop so we could listen to him talk incessantly about nothing.

The times I allow my ears to take in his ramblings, they are filled with everything that is going on from his kitchen window, which happens to be in direct line of our front door. "I saw Darlene walking the dogs. I saw Darlene taking a ladder out of her car. I saw you pick that gray and white rock with fossil imprints and throw it just over the stump 5 degrees southeast". Get a life!

He's a good friend of my husbands but most friends are that because they live a minimum of 10 miles away and visits are scarce.

Home is supposed to be where I can peel of my clothes, release myself from the constraints of my brassiere, and throw on a holey t-shirt without being concerned at what might pop out. It's where the world is closed out. Instead I feel closed in.