I’m done with a bunch of things. I ate a bunch of broccoli yesterday to attempt to keep my damn kid out of my bed last night. She is adorable, and often I love to have her sleep as she is the most adorable thing in the world. However, I am also a fan of my ‘own’ bed.
But honestly, why my brain would make me think broccoli was a good plan? Sigh. Slept like shit. farty shit. And now I am here, at almost eleven am, exhausted. Yelling at my kid who is 15 now to get out of my room so maybe I can take a nap. He is farty too, or I’m hoping thats the smell there. but I want just one place in the house that is mine, that the messes are mine, that the laundry I launder is just mine. MINE.
I’m all done with sharing. can i be? can i be all done with sharing my bed with children? is there some lost chance, some missed opportunity to snuggle that i will regret forever?
I’m done with my big project. Yes, another will arrive in a month, because it is luck to have work at all. This one was a particular challenge as i was morose and not working at all for a week, then the kids were here and recovery and grief and all, and suddenly i was in deep shit. brutal encouragement did the trick. but today, it is done.
now i go off to look at the class i signed up for, and get dreamy again, and maybe clean out the fridge. I’d like to rent a truck to move furniture to the dump. because otherwise i have to burn this messy house down. another thing i am done with.
teenagers. not done, but done, if you know what i mean. done.
sigh. i want some energy. where is it? did i have it before the broccoli problem? last year? When?
another thing I am done with? thinking that I should be all done with this pandemic thing. I ‘should be’ moving on, getting through, getting out. I should be moving, losing the weight, turning it around. The numbers are great, so great, comparatively. My mother is fully vaccinated, as are my in-laws and many people I love. And I don’t know how to accurately express the emotional salad bowl I have going on in me. What’s my resistance? What’s my problem? Why do I want to make another cake when I start thinking about it? Shit. fuck.
What are you done with? Really. I mean it. What are you done with?