Mute Button

My kid, and life in general, all need a mute button. Because I can only handle so much non stop noise. Thanks to the lice leper colony, we’ve not had to worry about visitors or even calls because people in my family are probably that stupid as to think it can be transmitted by phone.
But my lovely daughter…has not shut up for a second this weekend. She hasn’t really channeled satan behavior wise, but for two days she has insisted on filling every single moment with babble, chatter, singing, bouncing, jumping, running, more yapping. She is frankly turning my nerves into frayed ropes that may snap at any moment.
It’s not exclusive to her.
I am super sensitive to sound. Everything that makes incessant noise makes me feel like I am chewing tin foil balls with a mouthful of metal fillings.
I suppose I was do for this. Yesterday wasn’t so bad. I was in a fog for much of it and did go to bed super early but…It wasn’t a bad day, just long and boring.
Today…Every tiny thing is making me feel crazy. Including a distance visit (they stayed far away outside) from dad asking why the icky icky problem isn’t cured yet. I don’t have super mom powers, apparently. In fact, I’m not as gung ho on the obsessive combing like Becca is.
Mainly because I went through it last year and it’s mostly a process of elimination. Slow elimination. Though if I am so bad at everything, the people around me are welcome to take over for a week or so and I will gladly go sign myself into the rubber ramada. The solid night’s sleep alone would be worthwhile.

The venomous feelings are setting in. I have asked my kid over and over for five minutes of silence and the uzi fire just keeps coming. I am nervous and that makes me defensive but I get angry and bitter when I feel forced into a corner like this. Like I am being ignored and utterly insignificant.
Knock knock.
Crazy’s at the door.

Is it bedtime yet?
Not that it’s much of an escape for me, I spend all night battling kid and cats for space in my own damned bed.
One day I am going to take my home, and my life, back.
Just not this day.
This day feels like an early batcave and maybe some earplugs.
A Valium the size of a hubcab would be good too.

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