A Post That's Been Growing Inside Me

Every now and then, I have these kinds of posts: the kind of post that doesn't really make sense, that no one knows what to say to, that I can't fully explain. 

This is one of those kinds of posts. 

My best friend is currently living in Mexico and having the time of her life (I'm convinced she will live there forever if we let her....and I will let her because I love her).

Our plan C (the hubs and I, I mean) is turning out to be as faulty as its predecessors, so we're moving on to Plan D, but I'm mostly feeling lost. I try to work out what this new plan should be, but it just kind of sounds like a mix of the other plans. 

I spend more time at work than I do at home. This isn't exactly a revolutionary thought for most Americans, but I like home. I love my husband and our cat and our little apartment. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but I'll take watching a movie with my husband and playing with our cat over teaching someone the difference between "there," "their," and "they're" any day. 

I love the friends and the family that we have here in Poky. We are truly blessed, but something is missing. 

Do you ever have a day where you feel very distinctly that—while everything in your life may seem exactly as it should be—there is a piece missing? I mean, I don’t want to be one of those people that is always waiting for perfect: “We’ll just get this job, and then, everything will be perfect,” or “We’ll just move to this new place, and then, everything will be perfect.” Nothing will ever be perfect. I’m not saying there are no perfect moments in life, but I am saying there are no perfect lives. Life isn’t meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be messy and strange. Life is meant to be boring and educating. It’s meant to be beautiful and terrible.

But beyond this strange, educating, boring, beautiful, and terrible mess, I feel a hole.

I don’t feel whole. Something is missing…