As My Soul Gently Weeps…

The definition of smug is…thinking “I’m in a shitty mood, I may as well go socialize in the petri dish…”

So the dish experience is less harrowing than expected…even if you are harboring mega resentment because you couldn’t even eat a fucking sammich for lunch before some jackass calling and darkening your door with their demands.

Ha ha ha. How arrogant of me to think, “I went, I did, I actually succeeded at not blowing up or fucking up…”

So I go to pick my kid up from school and she trudges out looking like someone kicked her bunny and proceeds to tell me how all her friends were making fun of her and it’s all my fault for making her wear mismatched gloves. Then she starts ranting that I failed to give her money to get a Smencil and lollipop..And back to the friends being mean and it’s all my fault.

Let’s forget I bought her new gloves last Monday and she lost one. Let’s not recall how I paid four times the worth just to be nice and get her gloves’/hat with Elsa and she wore them one day, bringing them home stained in something orange. So while I wash those, I loan her a pair of mine…and she loses one of those…but doesn’t tell me til this morning then warbles how the school will call the cops on me of she doesn’t have gloves…So I tell her to wear a white glove and a recd glove and suck it up. Figuring ya know, she won’t listen to me about taking care of things, maybe some peer mockery might inspire her.

Nope. All my fault.And she lost one of the mismatched gloves I sent her with today, While reading me the riot act on the gloves she demands a playdate with grandma, By then I was feeling hurt, aggravated, unappreciated and say hell to the no.

Worst mom ever, according to her.

Come home, get a call from the office that handles child support claims, informing me I wrote down two different birthdates for my kid. Well, it’s that damn numerical dyslexia thing…Lawyer lady says she’s got a hearing scheduled for next month, but if The donor doesn’t bring all his income documents (and he won’t just to be a dick) this could go on for months….

And R sent me home with “homework” as inΒ  a soldering iron to remove pieces from boards so I can earn rita/gas/christmas money…and I get it stripped and text him twice, yo, where’s my stuff bitch since I dropped everything for you…

Three hours, not a single reply to either of my texts.

Remind me again, professionals…what is there not to be depressed about?

It’s not yet 8 pm and I am ready to curl up in fort blankie. I am busting my ass and my kid doesn’t appreciate me. My family doesn’t give a damn if I live or die. My friends are not there for me.

I don’t think a damned truckload of meth could inspire happiness in anyone facing so much oppression.

Yet here I am, still kicking, still trying. Because I am apparently a masochist emotionally.

I need a vacation of the “locked ward” variety.

Least in the psych ward you can refuse “support” of family and friends and have time to heal without their incessant douchebaggery.

Of course, that vacation is as likely to happen as the one where I go to some exotic island cos I sure as hell am not leaving my kid with my family, her donor, and the law doesn’t consider feline childcare adequate.

I think my soul is not only weeping, it is bleeding.

“Let It Bleed…”

Think that’s a Linkin Park song.

Though at this moment I’d prefer ‘One Step Closer” cos I could use a good vocal rant.

Wouldn’t turn down an IV drip of Xanax, either.

I am letting it all get to me, which means I am being a weakling which means I am filled with even more self loathing.

Yet Chaos kitty loves me cos I have not showered today and do not taste like Irish Spring so maybe I will just take the purr therapy and say…

Fuck.It.All.

 

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2 Responses to “As My Soul Gently Weeps…”

  1. 8 pm is pretty damn late in the day to be ready to retire to Fort Blankie, so by my standards at least you are a freaking Amazon warrior woman with a frightening painted face gripping pegacorn anal spears dipped in habenero lube. (Forget precisely how Sass puts it.) Prob best to stay away from the truckload of meth. Won’t bring the warm happies and you definitely won’t sleep for several months. The Xanax drip sounds cool, tho. Bleeding weeping hearts, Sis πŸ’šπŸ’œβ€οΈπŸ’™πŸš¬πŸš¬πŸš¬πŸ›‘πŸ›‘πŸ›‘βš”βš”βš”

  2. There is no part of this that shows you to be a weakling. None. Zero. I know it feels that way, believe me. But, you are getting a shitload done. Maybe not the little things like dishes, but big things, like filing for child support, getting your kid to school every day, and even doing shit for R so you can get a little bit of money.

    Not being able to bear the minutiae of everyday crap doesn’t make you weak.

    When I was little there were these strings that you could put on coats that would make it next to impossible to lose gloves/mittens. I don’t know if you can still get something like that

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