It has been pretty hectic lately. Ever since I start to take those damn writing assignments as sideline, I pretty much kissed good-bye to my once peaceful, quiet life. Things kept popping out from my full-time job, from my part-time job, from my undergoing decorated new home. It’s like that I am caught up in a marathon, desperate to stay one step ahead of those frenzied schedule, and there is no finish line in sight.

          I have no one to blame but myself because I ask for it.

          People do crazy stuff when they feel guilt. I understand now. Last night, despite the fact that I was exhausted like hell, I couldn’t fell asleep.

          How far could I push myself go? How long could I still hold on to my sanity?

          I know I should let him go, and I should give him support as a qualified wife would do. But---how funny such thing goes, there is no should, would, only But, big but.

          But I panicked.

          The offer is generous, and the prospect is promising. A golden opportunity---especially at this moment. Honestly it would drive anyone crazy to work for a jerk like his boss, who is not only an emotional six-year-old, but mentally deficient as well. He is unhappy, I know that. Besides, our financial situation is not very good. New home decoration has drained away most of our savings and we are left not much as a buffer.

          And then this opportunity came, everything is perfect with one tiny problem: he must work thousand miles away from home.

           This tiny problem gets me. I probably should give more faith in him and in our marriage, but after watched many marriages falling apart caused by much minor problems than Long-distance, I stop believing in a miracle. And I dreaded at the prospect of raising my son along. Therefore, I asked him to stay.

          He stayed, but from his eyes I saw deep disappointment. The only comforting fact is as far as I know him, if he is 100 percent sure, with not the slightest doubt, he would go anyway no matter how strongly I was against it.

          The milk was split and there was no point crying over it.

           I started to plunge into one project after another. I deliberately bury myself deeply in writing, even afterwards all i could do is to sell them at unbelievable low prices. It’s not answer to my problems, I knew it. However, one way to survive is to devise new ways to map out life.

           One of good news: I got a raise. Things would get better, right?