Muddled

Feel less shitty physically today. Mood less venomous.

But anxiety and irritability still reign supreme. I have cleaned house like a mad woman today just to keep from screaming because it feels like my nerve endings are trying to crawl out from under my skin.

My kid has been impossible. Nothing pleases her. Nothing is ever enough. She cries over every tiny thing. I whisper, it makes her cry. I tickle her, it makes her cry. She gets a drip of water on her shirt, it makes her cry. She wasn’t this fussy as an infant. And it always seems to be at its worst when I am at my worst. Karma biting me on the ass,  no doubt, for whatever I did as a child. I have no memories before age 5 and my mom says she doesn’t remember me being a bad kid.

But then, my mom would have handed me an Uzi to play with if it would have kept me from crying, so I probably was a happy little kid with no boundaries.

It has been a long day. Time has passed so slowly. I am already getting sleepy. Mostly I just feel like I have a mouthful of tinfoil and fillings and someone is jabbing bbq skewers in my ears while zapping my skin with a low voltage stun gun. ANXIETY GONE WILD. With a touch of superstition induced paranoia every time my ear itches and I wonder who is talking about me. No reason for it, except I am apparently nuts.

I am so high strung today I can’t focus or think straight or even enjoy a  22 minute sitcom and actually laugh.

No clarity.

Just murkiness.

Muddled.

 

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One Response to “Muddled”

  1. I’m finding age three significantly more brutal than age two for raising a tiny one. I guess it’s the able to converse more, but not enough, and the testing of boundaries. And general being a grinning little shit ’cause they think it’s okay. ¬¬

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