My head hurt. My stomach hurt. I was hungry, and also queasy. My scalp is itching. My right big toe is aching. Along with every single joint on my left side. And my right elbow. And both of my wrists. Knitting? Not right now. Not with these ugly things embracing my wrists:
OK. New, they are not ugly. But mine are several months old and starting to look a little…ragged.
And I’ve been working on the New Den Order, which includes turning the screws on the household budget while simultaneously (and somewhat incongruously) shopping around for piano teachers, ballet studios and also mommy-n-me groups I can attend with Captain Adventure to ensure that he loses nothing and gains a lot by being home with me and while I’m on the subject, why me?! What would be wrong with daddy doing daddy-n-me, why is the burden of catching the boy’s verbal and social skills up with the bottom-rung-of-average on me?! I mean, it isn’t that I mind, or don’t want to…it’s just that I’m taking exception to pretty much everything today and that includes the whole ‘mommy takes the lead on all things social, medical and financial around here’ thing.
Wah wah wah gripe gripe gripe.
And you know what is really pissing me off?
The knowledge that none of it is anybody’s fault but mine.
Stupid maturity. I hates it, I haaaaaaaates it.
I hate knowing that I, and I alone, am in charge of my attitude. That nobody except me has responsibility for my happiness. That it is my job to do what I need to do to feel good.
And also that diving face-first into the Easter candy is not going to get that particular job done.
I mean, @^*^@&@*^&@!!!!
What kind of messed up thing is that?!
It’s like…knowing that while I could go to the mall for some retail therapy, it wouldn’t really make me feel any better. It might feel kind of good at that precise moment, but then I’d get the bill and say, “What were you thinking?!” and then I’d feel worse than I do right now.
Or knowing that if I don’t get off my lazy, ever-expanding behind and clean the bathrooms, I am going to be aware of their less than pristine state until such time as I do get off my duff and clean them.
The fact that I keep reminding myself that it will take less than fifteen minutes to whip through all three bathrooms in this Den just…really doesn’t make me feel any better.
Sometimes, I think I have an actual split personality. There’s this fifteen year old inside me who whines and kicks grass tufts and grouses about everything. And then there’s some old granny in there who says, “Now honey, we both know that…” and states the @*^&@ing obvious and my inner teenager gets so pissed off that she raids the liquor cabinet HA HA, that’ll show YOU, Granny!
But then Granny puts the bottle back before I can even get the cap off because, after all dearie, we both know that if you have even one little drinkie-poo this early in the day, you’ll be stretched out snoring on the couch by lunchtime, and you’ll wake up with a stiff neck and be ever-so-upset because you didn’t get anything done today and also missed Mad Money again…
ARGH! The witch! She’s always right!!!!!
“Here, sweetheart, have a nice cup of chai. There, isn’t that lovely? Nice and strong, just the way you like it…that’ll perk you right up, dear one…”
{grouse, grumble, sip}
I don’t have everything. But I’ve got enough. Anything above that is just a bonus. And while I’m finding it difficult to deal with my stupid arthritis this week, it’s not that bad. It could be cancer, it could be rheumatoid arthritis, it could be any number of things. But it’s not. It’s just aching joints, probably pissed off because of the sudden change from ‘almost hot’ to ‘downright chilly’ this week.
We’ve got money in the bank and meat in the freezer, know what I mean?
It’s all good. Even on pissy days, I’ve got it good.
And check it out. How can you stay pissy, when you’ve got pink roses…
…and purple ones…
…and your lemon tree is making promises like these?
If even one out of ten of the blossoms on this tree become lemons, I've got about...eight lemon pies coming.
Yeah.
OK.
It’s time to shut the @*^&@ up about all my misery and woe.
And clean the bathrooms already.
With lemon-scented Mr. Clean.
6 comments:
Hang in there! You're doing great!!!
You have just put into words the things that are in my mind. Maturity sucks, aches suck and the inner granny sucks. But, as you said, it could easily be much, much worse. I don't feel so neurotic now. Thank you.
What a lovely pick-me up. It beats my mantra of "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...oh wait there's yarn to buy..."
::PERK:: Did someone say Easter Candy? Love your blog, I think I am gonna hafta put you on my blogroll :)
You are living in my mirror aren't you? The aches, the pains, the bathrooms. I say we tie the granny up and stick her in the basement then have some Easter candy.
And thanks for linking to me. :)
It's okay to hate housework and chores.
It's okay to be worried that your boy has a speech delay.
It's okay to be frustrated that you alone are in charge of all the kids' medical visits, and probably your husband's too.
It's okay to be pissed off that choclate is fattening, yet oh so prolific this time of year.
That's what a blog is for, yes? Somewhere to post your rants? And the rest of us can read them and say "Yes. Oh me too. Right on sister. That Tama is so insightful!"
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