Did I tell you I moved to England?

Well, I did.  In August 2014.  Just a few months ago and let me tell you, it sucks.

so I moved here for love and that part is cool, but I've never lived with a man, and we live in another man, an old white man's, house.  He fucks off for most of the year, but no the less it's his house.

Anyway, today and most days I'm sitting in here by myself watching tv and writing.  And researching jobs and applying to jobs, even got an interview with a bunch of kids.

So my real problem is that sometimes it feels like i have to do bad shit just to feel like I'm a live.  Bad shit as in shit I'm "not supposed to do" according to Ben, but i feel like doing according to me.

like smoke in the house.  now we're going to light a fire later and i was planning on opening the door and airing it out before he snuck up on me and came home.

trapped and busted.

and it does smell like smoke in here, but i like it.  it feels more like i have some space in here even if it's only for a few hours.  it's gross, but so what.  some shit's gross.  i need to be gross.

newlyweds.  we're learning each other and i have to not be so hard on myself.  I'm obedient and must be disobedient to hear myself and do what i want to do.  totally immature, i know, but still necessary.
I vacillate between how I believe I should behave and how I actually feel.  How I want to live.  And I'm resistant to change even though I've been on a constant change arc over the last 2 years... 4 really.  and I'm 40 and figuring that bit out too.

and still unemployed.  still without money and asking myself so many questions about that and myself that i'm often swimming in my own thoughts so deep that i can't see out.

but the one thing that is my favorite part of all of this is that i'm writing again.  and i sound like me.