Sherri Cornelius

I wrote today. Fiction.

You know how big a deal that is. Or maybe you don’t, because I’m not sure how much of that angst came through in my sporadic posting. But let me tell you, it’s a big deal.

It is Independence Day weekend—could this event signal new creative independence? Freedom from fear, from stagnation, from oppression?

I don’t know, but it feels good. Give me a flag to wave.

Thank you sincerely for all your declarations of support after yesterday’s confession. I want to assure you that I’m fine, even better than fine because I finally have some movement on this issue that’s been dogging me for a long time. My feeling is that everything will work out for the best, and however that manifests is good with me. How very zen of me.

I’ve found an online support group for wives of alcoholics, so I have somewhere to go for advice. I’ll be getting a job of some kind when the kids go back to school so I won’t feel so helpless.

I’ve worked really hard not to talk him down to the kids, to keep his image good in their eyes, to focus on his strengths, but now I’m thinking it’s time to acknowledge to them his drinking is not normal. They don’t like his drinking or smoking, but I didn’t want to contaminate their feelings with my own frustrations. Now I can see that he would never have a frank discussion with them about it, and if they are enlightened it will be me doing it. Still haven’t decided how to handle that, and I guess that’s where my support group will come in.

I wondered if I would regret posting about this issue after a good night’s sleep, and I don’t. I’m glad I got it off my chest. I’m owning my problems and mistakes instead of running from them, and that’s empowering. Scary, but empowering.