Monica Bielanko
A chronicle since 2005 of my marriage & move to Brooklyn in my twenties; becoming a mother in my thirties; moving to Pennsylvania and learning to amicably coparent after divorce in my forties while living 3 doors down from my ex-husband in a small country town.
That's What She Said
You can also find Monica's writing here:
Search The Girl Who
« Stuck In A Moment | Main | Before Marriage »
Sunday
Jul082007

Dear Diary Number 1

Dear Diary,

Life is trudging along like an old man walking uphill in blistering heat. I've just returned to work after a week of fun in the sun which seems as difficult as returning to school after summer break when I was young. Serge and I spent a few days in Las Vegas, which was nice. He's never been. It made me giggle to watch him cranking away on that nickel slot machine like a horny teen wacking off for the first time. And he won! And lost! And won again! And lost! Again! Me? I'm a sucker for blackjack. And I lost! And lost! And lost! Nonetheless, we had a great time.

My terrible luck at gambling, despite the fortuitous nature of the much ballyhooed 7/7/07 date, got me to thinking about my luck - or lack thereof - in general. I never win. Have never won anything. Not even the shitty T-shirt and coffee mug at the fucking office Christmas party raffle. My darling husband tells me it's because I'm so fantastically smart and beautiful it would be an affront to mankind were I to win things as well. Liar, I say. Keep talking, I say. But I just want something nice to happen. A publisher to love my book, win a couple Ben Franklins at blackjack, get rid of these goddammned zits squatting angrily on my skin... something.

Anyway. Despite my mooning about Lady Luck's apparent hatred for me (girls are so hard to please) I'm doing well. Moving to Utah has certainly proved to be helpful on many levels, including job stability and a house 50 times the size of our tiny Brooklyn abode. But I miss the hustle and bustle of the big city. The electic jolt that zings you every time you trod upon the storied streets of New York City. I miss Charlie, my friendly neighborhood homeless man, I miss the smell of salted peanuts for sale on the corner of Columbus and 47th, I miss the Manhattan skyline, I miss Anna. Banana.

This blog. I've decided I love it. Desperately. It's full of my thoughts and feelings and traumas and triumphs, loves and hates.. It is me, unfiltered. You can agree or disagree, just as I would react were I to read your journal. I'm okay with that. Am going to attempt to be a little more forthcoming about my trials and tribulations, if only to remind my future self how I really felt during these early years of my marriage. I stopped sharing so much because I felt so publicly harrassed and embarrassed earlier this year as a result of all this melodrama. I felt judged and misunderstood. Humiliated. So I crawled up inside my head and analyzed but never let it out. I hated blogs and everyone all over the internet, writing and judging from behind monitors... But fuck it. I've come to appreciate, not hate blogs. All of us typing into space... crying out into the web wilderness.