not me; 2003-09-03 12:42 p.m.

There's been a pitch. Not an official offer, mind you, but a pitch.

What if the Daddyman takes the open 2-bedroom apartment in his new building and the girls and I move in with him?

This would mean rent only costing $300/month. And getting to live in a neighborhood I adore.

But with the Daddyman.

We've tried this before. It didn't work. That was in the days when we pretended that his use of crack cocaine was social and controllable. I only considered it to be a concern at that time. Of course, I had no idea.

My mother thoughtfully pointed out that neither the Daddyman nor I are any 'farther along in our lives' than we were 10 years ago. Wasn't that thoughtful? What this made me realize was how completely unimportant that still is to me. All I care about really, is survival. I believe that even as a parent that just a small amount of security is even too much for me to hope for. I really think what's most important is working on meeting responsibilities, love, and support. I wish there was more room to make mistakes, but isn't it better for them to know that financially- there isn't?

I told him (who wasn't actually even making an offer, but did I realize that us living together was something that both girls wanted? That both girls came to him individually to wish?) that I couldn't just move my mess and hope it would get better. If I can't make my life work where I am right now than I have to keep trying until I can. That means that I have to strive for an apartment with every room essentially clean. Bills taken care of. Rent paid on time. Then I can reassess.

What I learned the last time we thought free rent might help us "get back on our feet" was that no amount of money will ever be able to compensate for unhappiness.

I used to assume that my unhappiness grew from his unhappiness. Whereas there is essential truth to that idea, the real truth is much larger. The Daddyman doesn't make me happy.

Although our sexual connection-that passion was so large and unreal and true, he will never love me the way I have always dreamed of being loved. He will never see me as who I believe I am- and not because I'm not that person after all. There are things about me that are SO great that he is apparently blind to. He has never, and will never start a sentence to me with the words-"That's what's so great about you,..." He has always only cherished the way he has looked in my eyes.

I think this pitch is because he feels that he will never be able to escape me- because I am the mother of his children. I would guess that no one would ever love him as much, or have such insight into him. But somebody else would probably be much better at making him happy. Ideally without even having to try much. At least at first. Hopefully he would make them happy enough to work at it when the time came.