No, that was not a typo. So, I'm stuck. Life stuck. Motivation stuck. Aren't all the meds I'm downing daily supposed to fix all that? Fuck.
Hey, that rhymes.
Oh, and I'm pretty sure my mom is reading my blog. Because I'm stupid enough to use my real name. Thank you Google. I love my mother dearly. Really. But every time I think of picking up the phone to call, my brain starts to dissolve and I fall to the floor writhing in pain.
Hi mom. I'm perfectly happy sticking to email for now.
I wonder if the hubby's unit doc will prescribe me some Vicodin for the pain of Dissolving Brain Syndrome?
Ah, I'm just full of pithy humor aren't I?
Hello? Internet??? (Taps on computer screen) Anyone out there? I know at least SOME of ya'll are listening.
So, I may be a fucking Debbie Downer right now but honest to FUCK I will trade you jobs right now. I begged my husband to be a SAHM. BEGGED. ON. MY. KNEES. BEGGED. And I love my child. To death. And that's where it ends. At this point, when I hear the neighborhood children screaming 15 feet from my back windows while I'm trying to take a motherfucking NAP, and my FIRST thought is "Where the fuck is my shotgun?" Yea. I think I've finally figured it out. I am obviously not a people person. (Feel free to unleash your chorus of "NO SHITs" riiiiiiight about.... now.)
Don't even get me started about the housework. Unless you like hearing polysyllabic swear words. Which, if you're reading MY writing, you either like it or choose to ignore it. In either case, I'm a Marine not a Sunday school teacher. Bite me.
Anyway, the time had come when I decided that I needed some me time. Good news is that, for the low bargain price of a hundred bucks a month, my darling child gets the opportunity to go to preschool five days a week. For three blissful, quiet, calm hours a day. Three hours full of coffee, uninterrupted reading, occasional housecleaning, maybe smoke a cigarette from the pack I stole from the hubby's carton...
God bless my husband that he doesn't read my blog. Something about respecting my privacy and not wanting to inhibit my artistic expression. I knew I married him for a reason.
And thank God the child loves school. Last week, on the first day of preschool, her classroom was filled with screaming children who didn't want to leave mommy. My kid? My kid barely looked up from the plastic dinosaurs when I told her goodbye. Which is a good thing- I am the LAST person on EARTH who needs a kid who is easily rattled.
So while the other mothers were busy trying to calm their respective, totally freaked out offspring, I was calculating in my head just how fast I could run out the door without attracting too much attention or suspicion.
But I think the GIANT grin on my face as I left the base daycare gave me away.