I managed to live through it and I guess we all did. We're all so vulnerable, though.
I'm tired. I am really, really tired. I don't think we've had much of a break yet in 2013. I mean, some really beautiful things have happened but some very difficult ones have happened as well and none of it has been what you would call restful. And I didn't sleep last night because of issues with this fucked-up wrist and then the boys were here and I was not the sweetest MerMer today. There were moments of true sweetness and joy but I was just too tired to have much patience for any foolishness and that's not who Owen knows as his grandmother.
Well. Here is Mr. Sweetness And Joy himself.
And the two of them, displaying Owen's rock collection which also contains a few choice bricks. And he called me "Sweetheart" today. And "Baby." And "Girl."
Oh my baby boys.
The dogs got out and came back around to the kitchen and barked to be let in and one of them has been puking all day long, ominous brown puddles of ick to clean up and one of them got into a peed-in disposable diaper and tore it up in my bathroom and there's a plague of gnats in the house and my phone won't keep a charge and well...it's just been a day.
I've got soup in the making and it's such an odd combination of ingredients (collard greens, snow peas, venison, white beans, sweet potato?) and I...oh, I don't know.
It's just one of those days when exhaustion has turned into a sort of existential angst causing me to feel inadequate in every possible way in every one of my roles from wife to mother to grandmother to cook to laundress to housewife in general, and in my writing, as well, which is suffering badly.
It's one of those days when all good things seem like a dream, when life seems like the constant pushing of a impossibly heavy boulder uphill and every muscle in my body is sore and weary.
And my hair needs washing and my legs need shaving and I'm fat and I ate every wrong food today and none of the right ones.
I just feel like a failure in every way although I sent the children home relatively clean (they took a recreational bath today while I sat on a small chair and read and tried to ignore the wildness going on a foot away from me) and I also sent them home alive and I suppose that's the main thing.
And on Thursday we're getting in the car and driving nine hours up to Nashville for another wedding. It will, at least, be a break from home and hearth and someone else will be doing the cooking and the washing up and the cleaning. This, I suppose, is good. I will wash my hair and shave my legs and put on make-up and wear presentable clothing and I will not be responsible for anything at all.
Which, if I can't escape to Mexico, will do. For now, it will do. And perhaps I shall remember who Mary is which will help a great deal in all areas of my life.
At this point I feel as if perhaps I have crossed some indefinable border into chaos and aging and they have put up razor wire and set the Rotweilers out to guard that border against my return but we shall see.
We will just have to see.