that's how I detox in Candy Corn on the Cob (October 2019)

No, I’m not secretly Amy Winehouse. Dude, I can’t even sing. I’m just sighing my way through the end of another sucktastic Monday. It didn’t start, and that is bad. I must adjust my alarms. And my sleep hygiene. I was awake last night at 2 a.m., plugging away at app Bingo, which is utterly useless but I do love to win. The kids are going down so late that I get no private time at home, which is blowing up my everything, because I am not functional when I am covered in children. However, Kitty and I watched three episodes of Glee, and we liked that, although it was a smidgen adult for her. We’ll see if she stays interested.

I did not go to Spanish class, but I did crochet slippers? Except Lefty doesn’t quite fit (tad too long in the heel) so I tied it on with a ribbon.

So I need to fix my nighttime routine. The things I need to do at night:

-shower
-brush teeth
-take pills
-eat a snack
-make tea for school
-doublecheck bag - (right books, assignments)
-Spanish (VHL blows)
-charge electronics
-bathe the children
-check the catfood and water

And I gotta wait until 11 or so to have ANY personal time, and that’s taking a bite out of my sleep, because 6 am is stupid early and I do. not. do. mornings. I am not a morning lark person. I fucking hate morning. If the world could start at like 3 pm, that’d be great. My brain sludges on at about 11 am, I do my best work through the afternoon, and by 10, I am ready for a long warm snuggle in bed. So I’m also not a night owl. I am a natural split-shifter, I guess. I like a late start and an early finish. To be fair, it’s okay to be awake until past midnight, but missing sleep over a long period of time turns me into a trainwreck, so I should honestly scale back my bedtime. To about now.

But the problem with that is that I’ve had no time to myself yet today. And I don’t get that while the children are functional. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for the girls, they’re amazing and wonderful and all that jazz, but they are teenagers now. Aren’t we supposed to separate a little? They still hold my hand in stores. IF they aren’t holding the shopping cart. People keep telling me to let them GO, but what they don’t know is that they aren’t leaving. If I want space in a store, I have to send them on errands! This is not my choice! I would be fine with independence, I think. I like it. I want more of it. It is a secret fucking THRILL to walk in somewhere alone, do your thing, and leave! Without an explanation! You don’t have to tell anyone anything! You can be quiet the whole time!!!

If I want to walk into Wal-Mart and buy a can of whipped cream and a bag of dog food, no one will care! No one would know! At least, not til I brought them home. (And those would be useless purchases so then I would have to explain, but I could buy them without a single bit of fuss!) I would like the girls to experience independence while they are at home so they know what they’re capable of. I want them to take themselves somewhere and find their way home. But they don’t want to do it.

And while they’re resisting doing it, they are suffocating me. I love them, but it is the kind of love that is an endurance sport. I fill my lungs and gauge the discharge of my breath so I know when to bob back up for more air. But they hold me down. I drown in them. I love them and they’re sweet, but I kind of know why lions eat their own young now. I know why those one birds place their eggs in other birds’ nests. This is grueling. They were SUPPOSED to come with a support system, but it never materialized.

Their dad was supposed to have a job that allowed us to have a social life that was more than fast food playdates (which stopped years ago…) Their mom was supposed to be able to drive, and able to sign them up for soccer or ballet or kickboxing or whatever spawn do now. But I didn’t drive, and I can’t afford the extracurriculars, and he doesn’t work. Won’t work.

And I’m trying to back-fill their lives, but I have to give so much attention to squeaking by in class. Cs might make degrees, but I don’t make Cs. If I am wasting our time, I am wasting it with stellar fucking grades. My GPA is like 3.6? I could look…but I don’t want to. I am using that time I stole from the children in the hopes that someday, I will be able to do all their parenting needs. I will be able to say yes if they ever find a hobby. I will be able to drive them to groups. I will cheer when they finally start separating from me.

But until then, I feel like some kind of cellular experiment in cleavage, frozen eternally with little cell buds stuck to me, not yet ready to drop off and do their own thing.

And I really blame him. This is a lot his fault for just giving up. Those three years he spent on the sofa (well it’s been a lot longer for that, but the first three years.) Those were essential years. Years with no car. Years with food insecurity. Years I didn’t know how I’d pay the bills. Years of him mumbling and having those fucking pseudoseizures. Years of me begging rides to get groceries and praying that everyone would be on time because I didn’t have an emergency meal on hand. He did that to me. He turned himself into my biggest obstacle, and is it wrong if I want him to go away?

This relationship has nothing for me. Well, other than childcare, and I can keep my cats here. But if we had no children and no cats, this would not be acceptable.