I am sad. I am sad that I am so tired this summer. Aching bones, almost fall asleep while driving at 4pm, no ability to do anything but take care of children and work, tired. Sad that I am boring, a lame, don't wanna do anything mama. Hard to make anything happen, struggling to make any plans for anything, mama.
I knew something was twisted, not working right, when in the middle of a glorious sunny warm day, I wanted to die. I wanted to no longer exist, I wanted to run far far away, I wanted to bury my head under the pillow and never move again.
Of course I don't, how can I. I have three little faces looking at me, I have three bellies to fill, three people to hold and love and take care of. I can't run, I can't die, I have to hold on, and muster through, even when I want to throw my hands up in the air and scream I AM DONE. I have no MORE to give. All my strength, all my creativity, all my ME, is GONE.
There is always a little more to give, something always comes along that keeps me moving forward, or at least holding my ground.
Oh the guilt. We mamas are so good at it. I can create guilt out of anything. And it is all for me, all things and reasons why I am not good enough. How I am messing up. All the things I should be doing better.
I have a piece of blank paper, on which I am supposed to write my goals, my absolute dream job and dream place. I am too scared to write anything. Ya, scared. I move it around everyday, by my desk, on my bed, by the couch, on the front counter, today, when I get back from work, when I do the shopping, when everyone is in bed, when bathes are over, when I have a glass of wine, when I am less tired, when I have thought about it more....when, when, when?
Oh the power this paper seems to hold over me. How am I so freaked out to simply think and write what I want the most?
I am tired, is an excuse that works only for a while, not forever.
Tired of being tired.
Of not having the energy to even have a clear thought.
Around and around, the whirlpool of my mind.
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