static

I am sitting up way past bedtime, my head abuzz, sleep impossible. My doc upped my dose of Wellbutrin today, perhaps that’s it. I’m Generation RX I am, Generation RX I am I am….

Pink Floyd serenades me right now and indeed I do feel like I’m on the dark side of the moon. There’s someone in my head but it’s not me….

My whole shiny happiness has been upended. I am recently separated from my husband (see cast of characters for a still-relevant description of him) and on my own with the kids most nights while we both reassess our lives as individuals, as a couple, as parents. The whole dynamic that created stasis and chaos in our family (you thought it was all shiny happy??) has got to stop. STOP. We both know and accept this, but, of course, changing old patterns, habits….easier said than done. I’m clinically depressed, and convinced as well that he is too (though he hasn’t been diagnosed), and we both pretty much hate our jobs. Our house is too small, the backyard is laced with landmines of dog shit, and we can’t seem to overcome the living paycheck to paycheck disease that admittedly afflicts many many people.

I want a bigger house and chickens. I want horses and a proper vegetable garden. Dammit.

And though I am, by nature, a diehard idealist, I’m not looking for perfection. I’m not under any delusion that separation and working on our own shit will mean that he and I never fight. Never fighting isn’t even the goal, although I used to believe it was. My former husband and I pretty much never fought past the first couple of years of our marriage. Of course, he was an alcoholic who couldn’t hold a decent job, so I guess we had our problems. But I digress.

I just want to spend my time creating. I want to find and explore something bigger than myself. A desk job followed by the mundane evening ritual (homeworkdinnerbathbed…) is positively demolishing my soul. I want to see that edge…you know, the EDGE. This is all too safe and suburban. A good friend of mine is helping put an end to FGM in Africa thanks to a job I helped her get at the place where I USED to work. And me? My job got phased out and I landed up using a business loan to buy groceries until my current employer finally got around to hiring me. $5000 later, we made it, but I’m still paying off last summer. Bitter? Me?

No, just tired of the static, the uninspiring.

Purgatory

I’m straddling the boundary of healthy and sick. Fortunately, I am losing my voice. That will likely prove helpful at work tomorrow since I’m second in line to answer the phones. Unfortunately, my throat hurts. I’m not a big fan of pain, although by the measure I use when something hurts (labor) it’s practically nothing. Fortunately, I don’t have a fever. Fever slays me, muddies my thoughts, lands me flat in bed.

Unfortunately, I can still hear every little goddamn noise that reverberates on the walls of this house. This teensy tiny house is a veritable conductor of sound. I live in nearly constant noise pollution. Long ago, we got rid of the old fridge that sounded like it was getting ready to blast off every time the motor kicked in. Then I went and birthed a kid who now who has an affinity for putting every nerve in my body on absolute edge all the time. When he’s angry, he likes to scream. I’m not talking a crying scream, but a red-in-the-face-fuck-you-world sort of scream that makes your head throb. I’m pretty sure he can be heard in at least four states.

Tonight I caught myself muttering something about selling him to the gypsies…and about gagged. So old fashioned, that remark. I’d rather set him out back and see how he fares in the cold dark of our rural environs. Go live with the coyotes! I want to scream back at him. Alternately, I want to quietly put on my coat, step into my vintage Sorels, and start walking. Walk until my legs give out from beneath me.

Anything but face a raging two-year old in our house that echoes with absolute psychosis tonight.

And tonight wasn’t as insane as some.

Small things

The world is iced over after yet another snowstorm and I am struggling with a head cold. For the past month I have felt unmoored and scattered. Too much happening all at once, too much noise, too much responsibility. I called in sick to work today and if the phone had not kept interrupting me I would likely be asleep right now instead of marking this first day of February with a post (finally) in my happy chaotic and sparse blog.

Yesterday, Chiara was upset by the fact that she forgot her Neopet for “Share,” which is her class’s version of show and tell. I watched in the rearview mirror as her face crumpled and her eyes darted around in search of something else to share with the class. She cried, for just a moment, then began rustling around in her backpack. When I dropped her off at school she told me, with relief in her voice, that she had found something. She held it up for me to inspect, a big smile spreading across her face. She had decided to share an oversized bobby pin.

Moments like that remind me of why I signed up for this parenting gig in the first place.