i shouldn’t be married. i’m a bad wife. i’m a great girlfriend. but i’m shit at being a wife. i don’t even like the word wife. it conjures a mental image of my mother. i liked living alone. i’m very self-reliant. why i did this again is beyond me. yes, i love him. yes, i’m a fool to be unhappy. but i still am sometimes. he’s reliable. steady. he probably saved my sanity. but it’s against my nature to be settled. stability bores me. we’ve had 4 houses in as many years. he wants to stop. settle. i want to scream and run for my life somewhere exotic. he’s cranky and working full time. i’m trying to renovate alone again and cook and clean and wash and ... i’m as chained to the ground as i’ve ever been. this move has just been a glaring spotlight on our differences. it’s hard to accept that somebody can love you, and yet find some parts of your essential self unpalatable. even little bits ... and let’s face it, i travel with my mother and sister because he only likes bali. he goes to sleep by 9.30pm, but i like to have sex very late at night. i’m a deep thinker, and he never thinks if he can help it. funnily enough, these things make life easier mostly. usually i love how he laughs at my eccentricity. it’s just that sometimes i wish we had that deep soulful connection. sometimes i just wish he “got” me.