After two days of vegetation (and I mean, I did nothing but take care of my kid and cats) I sprang back today. In spite of the day three or four of rainy gloom. Laundry folded, rooms vacuumed, cat boxes scooped, bedding changed. After two and a half days of saying “I’m gonna” yet never working up the energy or the whole give a fuck thing..I showered. Even bathed my kid.
Now I’m not sure what to do with myself.
I am trying to get back into writing because while blogging is sort of writing, it’s not the kind I truly enjoy. Because I’m never talking anything happy, the whole point is to give an accurate depiction of what life with these disorders is. And the happy days are few and far between and while noteworthy, they are definitely rarities. So blogging becomes about the harsh realities of mental illness. My writing I enjoy, FICTION, is an escape into a world without bills that can’t be paid, head lice, bugs, a mom who tells me I’m an unfit parent…In my fiction I can become enveloped in something else entirely and it makes me happy and gives me a purpose to power through the grind of the life that is mine.
Thing is…I’m still sweating this lice thing even though I think we’re getting it under control. The truth will come tomorrow when I take her to her school nurse (at the building proper, which I am unfamiliar with and scared to death of.) Last year, they sent us home three times because I suck at seeing tiny things and apparently just plain suck, period. I’d like to think I can’t be faulted for trying but, c’mon…In this world, effort isn’t really counted, that’s just something they tell small kids in school so they don’t stop trying. Adults know effort counts for fuck all, you either get it right or you’re a fuck up. Which is why so many of us end up phoning it in on everything, no use busting your ass if you just never measure up.
Still, I keep trying, because short of dying, there’s no excuse for me not to keep trying. The uterus served its function and I have to live for my kid even if some days, she calls me a horrible beast.
One more thing I suck at-self pep talks.
But I am going to the shop tomorrow which while nothing to write home about, it gets me out of the house and hopefully the school will take my kid back (sorry, Bex, if they don’t you’re taking another bullet.) Just want to get back to some half ass semblance of routine and normalcy. As normal as it gets in mood swing land, anyway.
Light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe.
Hope springs eternal, blah blah blah.