Alright, I am aggro today. For real. I don’t know what the hell my problem is, but at this point it’s only going to be solved with a beer. Which I can’t have. I have to drive. Eventually. Which is pissing me off even more. It’s been a long long, fucking-god-stab-me-in-the-face long week. I have been looking forward to the weekend the whole time, and I’m already ready to scream… and I’ve only been off work for 2 hours. Home for 1.
It’s the anxiety again. Which is stupid, but at the same time I had been wondering where it went. Instantly I walked in the house and started listing*. The wondermutt shit on the floor, the dishes need to be done, the floor is filthy. Oh I need to wash the blankets, I most likely have laundry to take out of the dryer, what is that smell? Shit, I have to do my bills too!
So I try to take a hot shower, I figure it’ll calm me down, and it couldn’t hurt the muscles that are stiff and the joints that ache. My shower is interrupted no less than 4 times. “Mom I have to potty.” “Mom, I want to put on my costume.” “Mom I’m hungry.” Times that last one by a million.
So I get out of the shower, more cranky than I started, and after 10 minutes of arguing with Noodle over whether or not we have tortillas, she settles for a lunchable. It works because thanks to the 6mp I’m so nauseous I don’t even want to drink water. I sit her down, make a cup of coffee, and hand her her dinner. Two minutes into it, she’s whining and complaining. I stopped listening.
So I’m sitting here, damn near tears, looking at the dirty dishes, my cranky child, and the mess that is also known as my house. I need a night out. I need 4 hours to myself. alone. to go dancing. to be me.
I am single mom. Hear me roar. Or in this case, bitch in frustration.
* Listing is what I call my “function”. It’s what I do for some reason before/what sets off an anxiety attack. I’ll make a list of things to-do with out meaning to. Before I know it my list is long enough to drive Mother Theresa to a Jack n Coke. I don’t know why I do it, but I do.