The toilet overflowed in the bathroom.
The pond’s pump stopped working. I’ve done everything I know how to - still isn’t working. The mosquitoes are having an orgy in there and breeding like there is no tomorrow.
Thora’s life was saved when Lily stuck her hands into her mouth and pulled a toothpaste cap out of there. She was about to swallow it whole.
I am total Robo-Mom this weekend: “Does not compute. Danger Will Robinson. Children Play Quietly. Mommy Needs A Martini.”
My schedule is killing me.
The house is falling apart. It’s dirty a lot these days.
I accidentally threw out a 2 page fiction story Lily wrote. She’s been crying for the last 2 hours. Major #momfail.
I am upset with a lot of people. Most of them are upset right back at me.
My upcoming weekend without the kids just got shot down.
You should see me up in this stupid home - running around with towels, mopping stuff, cussing out the pond, wondering how I’m going to squeeze these little facets of my life into boxes and move them somewhere. I look like a maniac. I’m thinking of filming myself so the self-deprecating laughter comes more easily. Right now it is very, very hard to laugh about anything. I feel like I’ve been pulling all-nighters for 6 months. The high I had two weeks ago is not with me anymore. I no longer feel like SuperWoman, able to leap divorces and bankruptcy in a single bound. I am very much human, very much flawed, and very much in need of some respite from my own brain.
I made the mistake of thinking it was almost over. Seriously though, it really is - but for some reason now that the majority of the hard stuff is done, I am faced with stillness and I have to think and digest everything that has happened. I don’t regret anything but damn, I want my life to stabilize so I can be a friend to others, a better daughter, a better mother. Despite feeling fat, I’m as thin as I’ve ever been - in the sense that I’m stretched to the breaking point in all directions. Self-pity is something I loathe, but I am wearing it like a comfy bathrobe these days. In my head: “I did this. I did this. My fault. Live with it. Deal with it.” I follow it with affirmations like “This is the right thing. I’m doing the right thing. I will survive this. It’s all noise, emotions. They come and go. For every depth of despair there is a peak of joy to offset it.”
When I run and my hip doesn’t feel like it’s going to fly out of my skin like a surgical discus, everything falls away. I understand the addiction now, but I can’t indulge in that. It hurts too much. So I spend the days thinking, being still, making long lists I don’t complete anymore. Most of the times I meet my deadlines but sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I don’t call people back. More often than not, actually. I am scared to crawl back into the hole from September. I am deathly afraid of it. I can see the edges of it and I dance around it. Distraction, writing, therapy. Medication that mixed with the aforementioned has saved my life in the most literal way.
