Waiting for Better


I feel my world caving in.

There are too many balls in the air, too many frustrations, and too many things left undone. I see the little improvements, the little changes, and I am pleased but I have to admit that they just aren’t enough. I am drowning in slow motion. I need a patch of dry land to grab onto. Maybe even a desert.

My home is a disaster. I cannot muster the strength or energy to maintain things or to move ahead with projects i started forever ago. Man. I was almost there. Dammit! It was almost done, almost finished! And now it’s just gross and I can’t even help myself. And I don’t want anyone to see it so I try not to have company, so I get extra lonely.

I don’t go out because I don’t have the energy, save a few special occasions that I REALLY pay for afterwards. My daily energy I give to the kids, and by 5pm I am wiped out. I long for a partner to tag in who is happy to be in this together. And that thought makes me even more lonely.

The bills are getting more difficult to manage. I don’t know how others who are worse off than me do it! And I’ve never spent so much time with lawyers in my life, and I now understand their bad reputation – and they are MY lawyers. And just when I think I can’t be surprised at moronic behavior, a particular moron just goes and proves me wrong.

Yes, I am maxed out. I have met my limit, and I dont like what it is doing to me.


My son is so happy. He is thrilled to have his cousins over during the summer and I am thrilled to watch them become friends. Yes it extra wears me out, but there are so, so many benefits.

I know with every fiber of my being that these hard times come to clean you out in order to make room for bigger and better things. I do believe this. I have to remind myself, though. A lot.



Yeah, I think that is all the positivity I can muster tonight.

I’m looking forward to better days.


Missing: Mojo


My mojo has gone missing.

I find myself avoiding eye contact with everyone, especially children, in a feeble attempt to save my energy.  All I end up doing is completely disconnecting myself, and then I feel extra awful. But it does make me start digging to find out why I feel so awful to begin with, why I’m so protective over my energy and feel the need to disconnect. It usually always comes down to pain.

By my estimations, I am about 20% of what I used to be. I know this seems low and possibly exaggerated, but I do believe it to be true. In order to conserve precious energy so that I do not cause myself extra pain, I have had to make many changes. More accurately, I have had to stop doing things. Yes, I’ve stopped doing 80% of things.

Hygeine, social life, cleaning… Anything that is not directly related to caring for my son and our occasional guests has gone on the backburner. I need every ounce of energy I have to get through the day, and sometimes I run out. I work hard to ration it all, making sure to take breaks wherever I can or modify tasks and activities to better suit me… But sometimes even the best plans go awry.

When I start retreating and avoiding people, I know my reserve is in the negative. I’ve done too much or am in too much pain. Sometimes I don’t fully realize how much pain I am in until I notice how distant I am.  Once I take inventory, I am shocked at what bad shape I am in.

The most difficult part isn’t the pain or the exhaustion. It is the fact that *this isn’t me*.  I am connected and loving and giving. I am! But not today, and not yesterday. To me, these days feel so wasted without giving the gift of my time and attention to those I love the most.

But then I have to force myself to look at all I did manage to do in spite of everything. Everyone was fed, looked after, clean, and had fun. I had a real conversation with everyone I saw today, even the little ones. I laughed at unexpected joys. I taught in the moment. Everyone was kept warm and safe, and I gave a lot of hugs.

The only thing I’m complaining about is the one thing I couldn’t control – that I just couldn’t stay directly plugged in for an extended amount of time. Strange. Not that I didn’t shower or that I slept in my clothes and wore them all day. Not that I didn’t brush my hair or my teeth, that I didn’t do the laundry or the dishes, or that the cats are mad because their litter box needs attention. No, I’m upset about the one thing that really *matters* to me that I couldn’t do… And I’m working on understanding that it is a symptom, not a choice.

I am still learning how to take better care of myself, but mostly how to be more kind to myself. I’m learning that even on the days where I’ve lost what makes me “me”, what’s left isn’t so bad as it surely seemed good enough for the ones who needed the little I had to give.

Well. Maybe I am learning, afterall.

I’m glad we had this talk. (:


I’m not watching your kids unless I can swear at them.


Look, I do not advocate cussing a child out. But there comes a time when you must word things a little more strongly in order to strike a bit of fear into their little oppositional minds, and a well placed swear word freaks them the hell out.

Adult: Stop!
Kid: Whatever.

Adult: Knock it the fuck off!
Kid: Holy crapballs. I better stop.

See? It works just like that, every damn time.

And kids love me. They are drawn to me, they follow me, they bug the shit out of me, and they randomly hug me. Unless it’s my kid, because he just runs away from me. But kids I don’t know? They adore me!

Maybe it’s because kids have been my profession for so long, or maybe I have just gotten more cocky and more cranky in my disabled days. Either way, my new rule is that if I can’t cuss at your kid, I’m not watching them. Because a) it’s effective and b) it’s sort of fun and I deserve some fun if I’m going to watch you kids.

I mean, there will be hugs thrown in and stuff. Popsicles. Probably some time in the swimming pool. But I’m going to be saying things like, “Who wants a damn hug?” and “It’s fucking popsicle time!” So if you can’t handle that then your kid probably shouldn’t come over or be left with me at all, ever.

Well, I have to go now. One of the kids is crying louder than all hell.

Fucking bees.



my bumper sticker says “my other life is an organized one”

Oh the joys of a disorganized house. Every little thing is a chore! Most people keep their bras in a drawer. Me? Nah, i like being surprised. Get into bed and, hey, look! A bra! And when i really need to find it in a very short amount of time, it’s like a treasure hunt on a reality show: “You have exactly 2 minutes to locate your bra. If you fail, you will have to pack your bags and leave immediately.”

Sometimes, i really hope i fail.

I love my house, i really do. I have very big dreams of it being so clean and organized… But i never seem to get there. Usually my fibro gets in the way and it really frustrates me. I want to shout from the rooftops “Im not sloppy! I’m just tired!”

I’ve thought of hiring some poor college kid to just come and haul it all away. Really, what’s the point in keeping it all? Most of it is replaceable, I’m sure. Maybe even all of it. I just know that I would be so much happier witbout it all, but I don’t have the money to pay someone else to do it… so here it all sits.

Well… I will always have my dreams!