I've been a deadbeat blogger. It looms over my head everyday.
"Can I manage a post today?"
And the truth is, I have tons to work with. Some things painfully real and some things that happened to just pass on through my head. The second I sit down to type, they vanish. Overruled by fatigue and pushed back laundry or meals. My shirt is pulled at by Jack who wants nothing more than his mother and I'll be damned if I deny him that when so much of my time is spent at work these days. When so much of my left over time is spent trying to cheat time itself. Pumping my body full of caffeine, sacrificing sleep, pre-planning, push...push...push some more.
"So, I HAVE to mention it. You've lost about 5-10 lbs! Are you doing something?"
"Everything."
I miss the fullness of my breasts and I miss my knee bones not keeping me awake at night. I'm not really proud of my weight loss. More than anything I am fascinated. "So this is what it looks like. This what trying to have it all feels like. This is pressure." I put on my headphones and push...push...push some more.
Sometimes I cry behind my sunglasses as I watch children fall asleep on the city bus. I think of Jack and I think of the smiles he's sharing with other people all day. People who are not me. Stay-at-home motherhood has always been hard for me. I'm not made for it. I wish I was, but I suppose I'm just not wired that way. And I feel like a piece of shit mom for not being wired that way. But there are times when I do miss it. It can't be explained. It's only felt in my gut and it comes rising up behind my lenses. And I push...push..push some more.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I pour more coffee.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I turn it up.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I wipe it away discreetly with the back of my hand.
And when I feel I'm at my breaking point I write.
I am writing. And I am not breaking. Not yet.
* I apologize over the erratic nature of this post. It just felt good to type again. To open that bleed valve. Coherent posts to come (hopefully).
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Monday, June 13, 2011
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wake me up when Fall is here...
I've been stressed. Sure I don't show it that often. I'm the type of person that generally gives no warning of pain until it's crossed way beyond my threshold (a real pleasure for gynecologists and tattoo artists and husbands), but my threshold is being poked at.
Greg has been working...a lot. A couple days ago he worked from home all day sitting in our room doing reports while classical music blared from the computer speakers and coffee cups with brown crop circles staining the bottoms accumulated along our desk. My job was to keep Jack at bay. Which should be easy. But when you have a daddy's boy like Jack and a dad who isn't usually home during those hours you get a toddler who has to perpetually be reminded that "daddy can't play right now". Insert tantrum. And then try again. And then say "no". Insert tantrum. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I felt like and asshole all day. An asshole with a mounting migraine, withering patience and what I think is an ulcer forming although I'm not quite sure.
Along with seeing Greg work his ass off comes the constant reminder that I am not. The last few weeks have consisted of collecting handfuls of applications, filling them out until my writers bump blisters and then getting dolled up in 115 degree heat and dropping them back off. Hoping that I speak to a manager. Hoping that that manager is so smitten with me instead of my less than spectacular resume (I have a two year gap since I've stayed home with Jack) that they'll say "why not?!" Hoping for a bone to finally be thrown. Hell, I'll settle for a crumb at this point. And then when my phone remains silent, when the "we aren't hiring" is uttered, I hope that I have the wherewithal to do it all over again in two days.
And I hate it. I hate that for the last month "you don't have a job. you need a job. get a job." is all I've heard. A record I can't change because it's true, and it's driving me crazy. Making me feel worthless and inadequate and shameful.
Along with that my family is going through some more bullshit. My family perpetually goes through bullshit. It's really frustrating to be married to somebody who has what could be considered a perfect family (or as close to perfect as one can get) when I get phone calls saying-
"So and so is doing drugs again."
"So and so are fighting."
"So and so went and got a tattoo at some scumbags house like a fucking moron and now it looks infected. He's rebelling and I don't know what to do anymore."
"So and so got laid off."
"So and so died."
I'm so sick of dealing with crisis'. Of struggling despite the fact that we follow the rules, are good people, make efforts to better our lives and ones around us when they need help. Sick of seeing 20 year olds driving Bentleys while 40 year olds barely have enough money to pay their rent. Sick of watching the girl in front of me with the tits get a job despite not being able to tell the difference between "their" and "there." Sick of being invited to places I can't afford or parties I can't afford gifts too.
*sigh*
But at least I have Jack. And it finally rained. And the car is working. And the rent is paid. And there is food to cook. And love.
And love.
And love.
Greg has been working...a lot. A couple days ago he worked from home all day sitting in our room doing reports while classical music blared from the computer speakers and coffee cups with brown crop circles staining the bottoms accumulated along our desk. My job was to keep Jack at bay. Which should be easy. But when you have a daddy's boy like Jack and a dad who isn't usually home during those hours you get a toddler who has to perpetually be reminded that "daddy can't play right now". Insert tantrum. And then try again. And then say "no". Insert tantrum. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I felt like and asshole all day. An asshole with a mounting migraine, withering patience and what I think is an ulcer forming although I'm not quite sure.
Along with seeing Greg work his ass off comes the constant reminder that I am not. The last few weeks have consisted of collecting handfuls of applications, filling them out until my writers bump blisters and then getting dolled up in 115 degree heat and dropping them back off. Hoping that I speak to a manager. Hoping that that manager is so smitten with me instead of my less than spectacular resume (I have a two year gap since I've stayed home with Jack) that they'll say "why not?!" Hoping for a bone to finally be thrown. Hell, I'll settle for a crumb at this point. And then when my phone remains silent, when the "we aren't hiring" is uttered, I hope that I have the wherewithal to do it all over again in two days.
And I hate it. I hate that for the last month "you don't have a job. you need a job. get a job." is all I've heard. A record I can't change because it's true, and it's driving me crazy. Making me feel worthless and inadequate and shameful.
Along with that my family is going through some more bullshit. My family perpetually goes through bullshit. It's really frustrating to be married to somebody who has what could be considered a perfect family (or as close to perfect as one can get) when I get phone calls saying-
"So and so is doing drugs again."
"So and so are fighting."
"So and so went and got a tattoo at some scumbags house like a fucking moron and now it looks infected. He's rebelling and I don't know what to do anymore."
"So and so got laid off."
"So and so died."
I'm so sick of dealing with crisis'. Of struggling despite the fact that we follow the rules, are good people, make efforts to better our lives and ones around us when they need help. Sick of seeing 20 year olds driving Bentleys while 40 year olds barely have enough money to pay their rent. Sick of watching the girl in front of me with the tits get a job despite not being able to tell the difference between "their" and "there." Sick of being invited to places I can't afford or parties I can't afford gifts too.
*sigh*
But at least I have Jack. And it finally rained. And the car is working. And the rent is paid. And there is food to cook. And love.
And love.
And love.
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