Yeah, yeah, horrible Easter pun for a title. Fits, though. The last two weeks of car drama and money woes and my kid acting out and this Easter shindig…I am exhausted.

No matter how much sleep I get or how much I vegetate and avoid the dish…I can never seem to feel not exhausted.

Of course, last night I did not get much sleep at all. My kid woke up at 11 p.m., refused to go back to sleep even though I put her back to bed several times…Finally I let her sleep in my bed. She kept me awake complaining until 2 a.m. I wasn’t snuggling her enough. I didn’t love her enough. It was cold.  I had the nice blanket. I had the better pillow. The only thing that kept me from depositing her in her own bed unceremoniously was the fact I was so damned tired myself.

Her keeping me up lead to me having even more trouble waking up and I purposely skipped melatonin last night cos I knew I needed to be up early to start cooking for Easter dinner. I must have hit snooze, on two different alarms, six times, in spite of her being up at 6:30 and showing more interest in the cheap ass plastic eggs filled with cheap ass candy and toys than the nice basket with the porcelein tea set that actually cost decent money. Ungrateful. I was laying in bed, half conscious, blowing up balloons, dozing off…Trying to talk myself out of bed. My bladder was pretty insistent and yet this morning lethargy is killing me. Every. single. day. And not even getting a good night’s sleep helps.

It wasn’t this bad during the worst of winter and the seasonal depression.

Just being bipolar is exhausting.

I’d love to write a long rant and purge my spinning brain but…It’s cold and damp (yeah, we got 39 degrees and pouring rain for Easter, fuck you, Mother Nature) and I just wanna shut my brain down and get warm now that I have the spawn in bed.

There was no family drama, thankfully.

I was, however, sickened by the fact that combined from all the family and those friends of my sister’s and my nephew’s fiance’…About four hundred bucks was spent on my kid for one miserable day. (I spent about twenty bucks, and I earned every cent of that credit card purchase dealing with R’s drama.) I just…That is so excessive, so ridiculous. Mom spent all that money to get her a brand new bike, which is identical to the like new one dad has for her at his house he gave six bucks for. BUT this is Frozen and has Elsa and Anna and that’s what Spook wanted and so they sprang for the forty dollar Elsa helmet too, and two baskets and…

I think that’s when it really hit me, like slamming into a brick wall at fifty miles an hour…

My kid wants for nothing. That’s the truth. I may not be able to shower her with frivolous stuff but she gets it from all sides everywhere else. I am the one keeping her fed and sheltered and warm and clothed and educated and able to go on field trips…I am the one who has to constantly say “no” while everyone around me is telling her she can act however she wants because despite their admonishments for her to mind me…Even after a warbler like last night’s…they’re all going to bow down and treat her like some princess.

Is it any wonder she is so spoiled I can barely stand her at times. Yeah, horrible thing for a mom to say, I know. But there are just certain personality traits and behaviors I can’t stand in anyone and thanks to my mother and sister being so excessive with the frou frou gifts and candy…My kid has become a spoiled, ungrateful monster. She had zero interest for what I got her. None. Not even a thank you. Just “where’s the rest.”

It’s hard admitting your kid behaves in a way that kinda makes your skin crawl. I’ve done all I can do to get through to her and all these fucks invalidate every lesson I try to instill.

No, for all the whining about poor fatherless Spook…My kid has a damned good life.

It’s me and the cats who do without. I wear pants with holes in the ass cos I spend money on clothes for my kid to wear to school. The cats eat the six dollar gruel from the dollar store and use that cheap clay litter that hurts the paws. I pawn dvds for gas money.

It’s not woe is me. I’m an adult, I am a parent, this is what I do.

That doesn’t mean I have to like it. I mean, I am the one battling bipolar and anxiety and depression that won’t lift and the fact that so rarely does anything good happen for me, so rarely am I able to afford anything nice for myself or even something necessary like a vet visit for the cats…It’s infuriating.

And I guess most of the anger is toward myself. Because I see my sister, who didn’t do a damn thing but sleep and party even though she had a kid, for 14 years…Now she has a good job, working from home caring for our elderly mom and her roommate and cleaning for some other old woman out in the sticks…She’s got a house now. She drives her mother in laws brand new car. Has a three hundred dollar glass dragon sculpture in her sitting room.

And I am stuck here, in bipolar/anxiety/depressive hell, wanting desperately off disability and food stamps, hearing every day how lazy and useless I am…


I need to stop. It’s akin to comparing boo boo sizes. My experience is not hers and I walk in my shoes, I know I fake nothing. If sheer desire counted, I’d have three jobs and be a doctor, lawyer, and indian chief.

Still it pisses me off and makes me feel pretty despondent.

Ha, guess I had a rant in me after all. Nothing like spending time with family to make you feel completely incompetent and shitty about yourself even if they don’t say a mean word. I think being able to stick a five dollar bill inside a plastic egg for my kid to find while I  don’t have a dollar to my name is saying plenty.



8 Responses to “Eggs-austed”

  1. I seriously want to beat the snot out of people right now due their idiocy. Can. Not. Stand. It! So make a list of who you want done in first and I’ll work my way down the list. Then, I’ll go back through and amplify said initial throttling with a overload followed by “Gimmie the cash”
    Zero Tolerance Policy is in place. Do not fuck with the Sass.

  2. God Damn these people! I get it…it’s great to spoil the grandchildren, but spending some of that money on helping you with the house or the car isn’t too much to ask. And that will also help Spook. I learned a very valuable lesson from my brother last night and that is that underneath, at the core, people don’t change. Stigma stigma stigma fuckers.

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