Accomplishment: Pegacornutopia

I did not master a new craft. I did not accidentally discover a cure for mad cow disease. I did not win the Nobel Prize.

What I did do today is as auspicious as those things, for me.

I did a mountain of dishes. I swept. I vacuumed. I did all three litter boxes. AND I am officially caught up on the washing, drying, folding, and putting away of Mt. Laundry Vesuvius. (Eight baskets, ffs, how do poor people have so many clothes???)

Pegacornutopia, top notch award for functionality in my world.

I also earned a pack of smokes by going to babysit the manchild at the shop for four hours because he’s depressed and panicked, blah blah blah. It’s all I can do not to smack him with a rabid mackeral. He has a few bad weeks, it’s all falling apart. I’m bonafide mentally ill and he dismisses it.
I hate people who don’t play fair.

It’s been a weird day, mentally. I think my earlier post, snarking about the magic 8 ball not being needed to know I’d ignore the housework AGAIN…Took the pressure off of me to do it.
So I did it. Everything comes easier when I don’t feel there’s a gun to my head and a clock ticking.
I do things at my own pace. Needless to say, snails bypass me. But it’s the way I get things done.

The psychological shrapnel didn’t start flying full force til after I fetched my kid. For three hours it’s been nothing but complaints, demands, tattling on a kid she was playing with (he said fuck and told her his brother was going to come over with a gun and shoot her, wtf???). So I made her come in after her tenth trip inside to demand food and tattle. Which means she glued herself to me, and not in a good way.
More demands. More complaints. Argumentative. Manipulative.
“Boy cows don’t make hamburgers!” She screams at me when I make a comment on her homework about beef.
Then I try to finish housework and she is yapping, bellowing, and just being a jackass the whole time.
So I start getting irritated. Then my voice raises after the third time I’ve told her the exact same thing only to be ignored or argued with.
And she just keeps going, then crying because I am “mean”.
All because I want to use what little energy I have left to get all this monotonous work done and won’t bow down to her demands or agree that cows do not make milk.
Needless to say, I just enacted the “two foot” rule.Meaning she has to stay at least two feet away from me until she is ready to be civilized.
It may sound harsh but it’s the only way I can cope with her when she’s in this mode. If she’s not near me, I can breathe. Then I can forget how mad she makes me, which really hurts considering how hard I try for her, and I can calm down into some semblance of having all my pieces glued together.
And it worked because she is now quietly playing on her Leappad on the couch but she is not crumbling under my “meanness.”
Boundaries, I just want her to remain within the boundaries, even if only loosely. When mommy says,”I need space” it means…Back off. Just five minutes, that’s all I ask. Let me regroup, let the silence replace the throbbing eardrums…

It all goes back to my inability to cope with excessive stimuli. And when I say that I don’t mean I’ve failed to control my reactions. I mean, circuit overload does not respond to self pep talks, bullying, or any other positive thinking psychobabble bullshit.
Space, quiet, and a few minutes. That’s what sensory overload calls for.

Now…I can rest on my accomplishments for the day while embracing my Pegacornutopia trophy and look forward to a rare “me” night while my kid spends time at my mom’s tomorrow night. As for tonight…I think I just may socialize since R offered to bring me Mangoritas “for being there for me’ the last few weeks.
He so does not deserve me.
But I am who I am.
Sweet venom.

Another brick in the wall, another day battled to the best of my ability.

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