Forgive the air of mystery yesterday – various stresses, including a dear friend being very ill, got me down.
I don’t think kids understand how unrelenting life as an adult can be – you can’t stop the world when you want to get off, there are too many bills to be paid. Everything needs to keep spinning.
The youngest is a bit over me being wonky. Two minutes after I dropped her at the bus stop yesterday, she called and nervously said: “You are going to be angry, but I left my air pods in the car, can you please come back with them?”
I wasn’t angry, I’d moved to the weary resignation stage by then. I calmly looped back around the block and dropped the air pods off.
“Thank you! I love you!” she chorused.
And then I cried all the way to the coffee shop, where I got my caffeine injection to kickstart the working day.
The tears weren’t due to the air pod incident, they’re because I am finding COVID-19 life oddly exhausting and endlessly Groundhog Day-like. I’m limping towards taking a week off to recharge after the Australian Drinks Awards. My boss suggested I go on holidays with the kids. Does it make me a terrible parent that my initial reaction was “ugh!”
We’ve had plenty of “quality” time together over the past few months due to COVID-19. And I still haven’t recovered from taking them to Bluesfest last year, which included some terribly lonely stints as they lazed in bed on their various devices. (Not to mention the fact a pet rat secretly came along for the ride.)
I tried to hug the youngest on Tuesday night and the (ironically) prickly teen told me to back off because she was worried I might have dog hair on me and upset her allergies. I asked when I could hug her and she said “never”. That didn’t help my blah mood.
Before you suggest I dump the dogs at the RSPCA … while they drive me mental, they also gaze at me adoringly every day, unlike my offspring. As I work at the computer, this is the sight that regularly greets me when I look to my right:
Both dogs sit on the arm of the couch, waiting for cuddles. How could I give them away?
So I’ll just add the allergy issue to my list of life stresses and get on with it.
What helps is knowing I’m not alone, which is why I’m telling you about my emotional trevails, in case you’re feeling a bit fed up too.
I read a blog post by Mrs Woog this week about dealing with “ovulation pain bullshit”.
“You are doing all of this, on TOP of dealing with normal teenagers,” she noted.
“You spend a long time in your brain, trying to figure out why everyone is pissing you off on purpose, are you being irrational or is that dumb fuckwit who took your coffee order really that thick. You are aware that you are slowly turning into that cranky bitch and beat yourself up a bit about it.”
Yup, the cranky bitch club. Membership is such a joy.
But I get myself out of my funks. A story about a Rockingham pub shouting people called Mark free meals dried my tears yesterday. The WA Premier is a cack.
Writing is such an important mood lifter for me.
And the day ended much better than it started. The youngest and I went to ALDI to get Bonds trakkie pants and gumboots. A friend got there first thing in the morning and said there was JUST ONE air fryer for sale. ONE! And there was no sign of pasta machines last night. But I’m stoked with my gumboots and friendly relations have been restored with the youngest.
She howled with laughter – there were literally tears – when I grumbled about being ordered to never touch her. It was a joke apparently, and I need to stop being “so menopausal”.
Easier said than done, but I’ll try.
Song of the day: Yazz “The only way is up”