The reason the time matters to me is that I know tomorrow I’ll be OK. Tomorrow I hope I’m OK. When this posts, I’ll know. Probably.
Yesterday–today–was a rough fucking day.
Cara and Ollie were/are like they always are: they’re kids. They fight. They hit. They holler. They cry. They’re little cavemen and it’s my job to shape that behavior. At least in a perfect world, right?
Tucker called home around lunch time and he just sounded…off. I don’t know how else to describe it. And I got off the phone with him fast because I was being a bitch and I knew it but I wanted to blame him because it’s easier that way.
I just wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. I wanted to go. To…not be anywhere.
Did I want to kill myself? Hell no. Did I want to die? No. Did I want to hurt myself? Nope. Did I feel like an utter and complete failure at everything, totally and completely. Yeah, yeah I did/do.
Everything was/has been setting me off and by “setting me off” I mean I was/have been crying at the drop of a hat. Sappy song? Yeah. Nice comment on Facebook? That, too.
I felt/feel worthless and realized/realize it’s getting close to when I’m going to have to figure out some way to explain some of this to Cara.
I didn’t spend all day in bed. I got them cereal. I cooked lunch. I made/am about to make dinner. I put on makeup but didn’t take a shower. I’m still functioning. But Cara knows something just ain’t right and…well…fuck me.
She’s five. She doesn’t deserve this stupid bullshit.
I’m tired of using the dumb past/present tense crap. I’m sitting here watching the kids play some dumb Lego video game and I’m about to cry. Seriously? How dumb is that? Granted, the game does blow…
The “sometimes Mommy gets sad” talk isn’t one I want to ever have.
And now I have to make dinner.