Tell me, in simple terms, how it is that I find myself disappointed in an endlessly disappointing person.
It doesn’t make much sense. Not anymore, at least. Disappointment is not supposed to be so frequent and it’s definitely not supposed to be unsurprising. I don’t usually SET OUT to be disappointed, to sigh with great effort, to press my lips together and widen my eyes.
Like, yeah. Of course.
A person who is this disappointing is a lost cause, right? So you’d think. And yet I keep waking up with a stupid smile and stars in my eyes and a face that says
and it’s disgusting. It’s getting harder to keep that smile on my face, though. It’s getting harder, almost impossible, to utter those words and nod my head and just go. It’s getting harder to explain to disappointment WHY it’s disappointing, to take all the blame, to second guess myself over and over annnnnnnd…
You get it, I’m sure.
So we’ll see what happens as my hope and care and love erodes, slowly. This PMDD is not helping me hold on. It makes everything sit under a magnifying glass. It pokes me in the face, it screams, it tears at my skin. THIS BOTHERS YOU, ACTUALLY, SO YELL. THIS HURTS YOU SO CRY, RIGHT NOW. And I’m realizing that my PMDD reactions are not from nowhere – they’re the things I’m not reacting to normally. Hormones don’t play, apparently.
… … …
Dude Ranch and I got up early and got washed and dressed. The Young Sir was up, of course, and we dropped him off at school. Immediately after, we drove to the track and walked. There were only two other people out there, obviously regulars, and that pre-8am air was nice and warm (not hot, not sweltering, not boiling). We managed to walk around twice and then play in the brand new playground. They actually built a handicapped swing, fina-fucking-ly, so Urijah got to swing without worry. It was beautiful. His face lit up, his laugh was thick and honest. We have a new routine.
When we got home, I cleaned a bit. I’m trying. I want to get up and do these things. I cleaned and then we did our homeschool thing (counting today) and we did a good fucking job. We managed to get all the way to 100, writing up to 10, and we used the abacus the entire time. I think I’ll stick with math the entire week and then switch to writing/reading next week. We’ll get the potty training in there sometime.
I guess it’s not really potty training anymore. Toilet training. But he’ll get it.
Before I had the talk, I felt honest. Simple. Happy. The only time I felt tired today was when we got in the car to take Wuff to get the money he needlessly borrowed from his Grandmother.
I think finally getting over wanting to believe in someone is a good thing. It leads to walks in the morning and less sighing and focusing on the abacus. It leads to setting a schedule and finally getting that backed up work done. It leads to jasmine tea instead of coffee. Oatmeal. Music.
It leads to something other than disappointment. At least, other than the same unsurprising kind.