The procrastination is strong with this one in Candy Corn on the Cob (October 2019)

Had a rare treat this morning. Since the Beast had therapy, and her dad took her, I had the house to myself for a few minutes. I took advantage of it. I snuggled in bed and I listened to the quiet and I did not want to get up and leave. I thought about all those long ago afternoons where the kids were in school and he wasn’t due home (the few times he actually made it out the door, even) and what a pleasure it was to have things just for me. It was a wonderful cocoon and I find that I miss that feeling so very much. School has made it necessary to give up that shelter and time but reminds me that I must still produce. Produce produce produce. But not relax. Not feel safe or sheltered. Not linger in bed, warm and sultry and langorous.

I really resent the go-go-go. And I can’t escape it, because the kids are usually there and he is ALWAYS there and he’s taken the linger and made it his art form (he can spend like 36 hours on the couch, stewing in his own…ewwies.) He only gets up for the bathroom. And sometimes he smells like he missed, if I’m honest.

I keep finding the kids in my bed when I get home. Even when I get there, they just pile into that little twin bed, splitting my blankets and watching their IPads, arms over their heads as they share my pillow. Sometimes they do this with roommate’s child perched across the pillow: three thirteen-year-old heads focused on a screen. (The Beast doesn’t get into my bed.) It is both adorable and abhorrent. My bed, you know. I don’t lay all over their bed. I have determined that I am oddly possessive. I think this is because I have never had a choice in sharing. I grew up poor (no, poorer than that…think “random homelessness”) and I have had to adapt so much. There have been weeks where I didn’t even get the footwell behind the passenger seat to myself. (My youngest brother liked to sleep curled up in there.)

I mean, there are literally strangers in my bed now. And I’m kind of okay with that, but very much not, at the same time. It’s…my bed. Except now I’ll never sleep in it again, they aren’t using sheets I don’t think, which is awful and gross. I will have to get a new bed before I would sleep in there again. Don’t tell me to be reasonable. I will not sleep in that bed again. Part of that, though, is because of him. I fear if I get a reasonably sized bed, he’ll start sleeping in it, and I don’t want to sleep with him. Not even the kind of sleep where you just split a bed.

So I kind of need to make this twin bed last until graduation. At the same time, it is very tiny. The cats aren’t happy about the lack of space. Makenzie is now sleeping on my pillows at night, and she’s a real whore about the space. And I very much resent that I have to run this conceit because I refuse to sleep with him. Not even just to share a bed. No. I remember all too well that he puts his hands all over me while he sleeps and no. I am not going to have to lay there and take that. Is that unreasonable? I know it is just a hand, but it is not a hand I want on me, and anyway, if I lay there and let the hand happen, it’s going to be more than a hand. And I definitely don’t want that.

As much as I long for sex, I do not want it with my husband.

And as much as I long to be hospitable, I want my space to myself.

I’m beginning to procrastinate a lot. I think this is how I show I’m under too much stress. I can’t get up with the alarm, I can’t focus on work until it’s either almost due or overdue (see Wednesday’s Spanish worksheets....) I don’t shower at night, because that’s twenty more minutes I can spend turned off, in bed. TV is utterly fascinating right now. I even rewatched Who Framed Roger Rabbit last night (Lu picked it.) Of course, part of that was to spend time with Lu, but I didn’t have to enjoy it, and I could have outlined an essay or Nano or done Chromebook homework or anything. But I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. (I did make dinner though.)

I’m going to prep for work for next week, pile up the readings, and block them out a little at a time. I know this is the tough part, and I know it’s lusterless, and joyless, and dull. I know all of this. However, if I do it a little at a time, I can reward myself. And I can take the time I need to fill my cup, or whatever self care metaphor you like.

And I can keep reminding myself, I’m not down for the count yet. I’m reeling, but I have both feet on the mat. I owe a paper Monday, I need to workshop three people this week and not two, there’s no dumb craft notebook (I hated that craft notebook) and it’s almost November.

Can I do this? Si, me puede. (I think.)