The Daver is addicted to workahol. Massively, unabashedly addicted to the stuff. Most of the time, it’s a-okay with me. I’ve never been the type of partner that is needful all of the time, and hell, I should tattoo my forehead with a fat “Does Not Work Well In Groups.”
Besides, he loves what he does, and even if falsely I tried to claim that I had had a change of heart and now “loved nursing” (the career, not the lactation), my whole family would fall all over themselves trying to forbid me to go back to it. Apparently, working a profession I hate is bad for everyone in my family (mainly because I turn into a massive bitch when I’m unhappy).
I’m not sure if it’s the deadly microbes (dramatic much?) merrily playing in my body, or massive hormonal imbalances caused my impending menstrual cycle, but lately I just can’t hack it doing everything by myself.
Too many people (and animals) require me for their daily (hourly) happiness and depend upon me to make certain all of the “i’s” are dotted and “t’s” are crossed, and I am finding it all so very overwhelming.
I suppose, if I am trying to take a shot at rationality, that my illness has brought to the forefront of my brain the reminder that no matter what, my needs aren’t as pressing as anyone else’s.
There’s still Snack Day at school that I have to remember and prepare, violin that must be practiced (and if I am to be painfully honest, taught by yours truly), dirty diapers to be changed, baths to be orchestrated, dinner to be thought of, noses to be wiped, cat boxes to be scooped, laundry to be dried and sorted, cats to be fed, dog to be fed, egos to be stroked, and mail to be sorted.
And this is just a minor fraction of it all.
Such is life when you have kids, oh this I am aware, and most of the time it doesn’t get me down. You roll with whatever life throws at you, try to dodge most of the shit storms, and go to bed knowing that even if you are exhausted, you are happy.
Except when you’re not.
Except when the very thought of what the new day holds makes you want to pull the blankets over your head and try your best to hide from the day, hoping that no one finds you for a long time. Maybe they’ll forget about you!
Alas, like it or not, no one can forget you, because they rely on you, and you alone to do what needs to get done. Some days, this makes you feel powerful: just LOOK at how many plates I can juggle at once! And some days, you just wish that you had backup. From anyone.
Today I feel alone and impossibly sad, and my only saving grace is that I am hoping to wake up tomorrow ready to take on the day and wipe this shit right off my shoes.