Gods... it has been a hell of a day. I wish I could say that it was just because of a poor night's rest or something. Heck, it'd be easier if I could just blame it on my screwed up hormones, even. But I honestly don't know why the hell I had such a rotten day.
I suppose it is a good thing, in some respect, that my husband finds me to be sexy when I'm angry. I guess my bitchy mood can do a little tiny bit of good by putting some kind of a smile on his face.
I feel like everything I touch of late turns to shit. I recognize that it's an exaggeration, but it is how I feel right now. I've been trying to make a new skirt for myself. Because the pattern I had was screwed up somehow, I now have 12 yards of wasted fabric. And I have no idea how to recover it and looking at it makes me angry. Never mind the amount of anger I feel over the fact that I basically wasted money that could be better spent on more important things.
I can't manage to get this place as clean as I feel it needs to be. And I feel damn angry about that because I know that if I don't get this place cleaned up and in good order, it'll make my lungs start causing problems again. I also know that it could be a problem for my son. I worry that the boy has my consitution, not that of his father, whom doesn't ever seem to get sick with anything. I feel like I have no room to even turn around in my own home because the apartment is really too small for us now.
I don't know what to do. On one hand, I want to just go and throw everything away. But I recognize that I can't throw away my son's things and I can't do that with my husband's stuff either. And if I throw away all of my stuff... well, where exactly does that leave me? It makes me angry because it feels like I'm getting blamed for the mess around here when it gets pointed out that I've got more stuff that got brought in here when we moved in. But, I know that's unreasonable of me.
I know that there's so much in my head right now that is unreasonable. But I don't know what to do with or about it. This evening, I had to walk out pretty much as soon as my husband got home so that I wouldn't do something stupid or rash. I was so angry with how dinner wasn't coming out right, I wasn't able to get my laundry put away, or any of the cleaning that needed done in the rest of the apartment, despite my efforts, that I just couldn't handle the boy's temper tantrum. I had to walk out before I did something stupid.
I wanted to keep walking, but I recognized that if I didn't come back home soon there'd be problems. After all, dinner wasn't done and my husband wouldn't have known what I was working on because I walked out with pretty much saying anything.
God, I wanted to just run. It makes me so aggrivated that I'm not in good enough shape to run anymore, and that I haven't been in many years. I would have loved to have been able to just run until my lungs burned and my body ached with the effort. It would have pushed away that discomfort and anger, it would have done me good. I also had the urge to break things and hurt things.
I'm a generally compassionate woman. I will try to avoid stepping on bugs and such when I'm walking. It's messy and the animal didn't do anything to me. Where's the sense in killing something that was there minding it's business for no purpose other then I felt like it? As I was walking, however, I had to restrain myself from stomping on worms and insects as I saw them on the ground. It really made me feel like I was one of the lowest people on the face of the earth for the fact that I contemplated killing an animal that literally has no defenses and only basal ganglia for anything remotely like mental processing.
So, what the hell is the point to all of this? How the hell is this living? Are we just trying to function while we complete some screwed up circumscribed circut of bullshit thru the day, one that is dictated to us by the mesh of gears which make up this machine that grinds us down, where in we are but one of the cogs? Seriously, what is the point?
Ah well, I suppose I'll just go be bitchy and morose elsewhere.
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