Monday, January 02, 2006
I've got garlic in my soul.
Like the cats, I would like to rip the fucking heads off some Christmas ornaments and leave their mangled remains lying on the floor.
I am so completely not in the mood. For anything. Other than maybe crawling into bed BY MYSELF, with a good book and a big fat chocolate bar. Maybe some hot tea with a hefty slug of brandy.
Except I am trying not to eat chocolate so as to whittle off some fat from my fat ass.
The two older boys have done nothing but fight and scream at each other, and run around the house making intolerable amounts of noise, shouting and throwing things at each other and singing that damn Hot Cocoa song from "The Polar Express" at the top of their freaking lungs.
Segundo is wearing his father's tennis shoes, clomping around in them and stomping and, having no internal volume control, discussing Thomas trains at top volume. People in Ohio can probably hear him, for God's sake.
They are currently involved in ripping all the comforters and sheets off their beds, the better for them to jump on the beds and invariably scream some more when one or both lands on his head. Oh wait, no, now they have their tape recorder and microphone out. And WE get mad at the neighbors for playing their radio too loud?
[NOW they're carrying all of their stuffed animals downstairs. When I asked what in God's name they were doing, they said, "Loading up the sleigh. And you get the first gift of Christmas, Mama." Oh, I am a worm. On top of everything else, I am a WORM.]
H. went to the gym this morning. At nine a.m., my poor brother was holding a screaming baby and the two other nephews were wrestling over the baby's toys. I am sick, sick with a sore throat and stuffy nose and headache and just want to go back to bed. But as H. was AT THE GYM, I got up and fed them and fed my brother, and made a bottle of formula for the baby because I could either nurse him or take care of the two older boys but in my current state of mind not both. So shoot me. Formula is not poison. (Oh, the guilt, Can you tell I feel guilty? Oh, really? Humph.)
I have managed to eat something, swallow three Tylenol (one more than recommended on the bottle) and my Zoloft, neither of which has made a dent in my foul mood or my head cold. The Tylenol - hell, everyone in my family croaks early anyway, and my mom died of liver disease probably brought on from years of migraine and headache medication, so really, I might as well feel better now if I am just going to bite it in my sixties.
H. just left for his mother's house where he and his brother have to rewire the chandelier in the dining room because for ten years his mother has been spinning it on the wire to clean it and spun the bracket right out of the ceiling. So they fixed the bracket last night but hanging from the lamp cord all ths time has trashed the wiring.
I am sure his dad will just sit there and make nasty comments about how all her cleaning and her stupidity made this happen. And he thinks MY family is dysfunctional?
And yes, the holidays are theoretically over but because we JUST HAVE NOT HAD ENOUGH OF EACH OTHER, my nephew's eighth birthday party is next weekend sometime, depending upon when the football game is.
It's cold and grey and raining, so I can go for a walk but H. does not want me to take the baby out in this, so I have to wait to go until he's done rewiring the chandelier. He SAYS it will only take an hour. I don't believe him. And then I am sure he will eat lunch over there. While I make my first (of roughly sixty trillion) pb&j sandwich of the year.
And yeah, it may be a new year but I still have to think of something to feed them all for dinner. And I'm still sick and fat and exhausted and have mountains of fucking laundry to do. At the moment, if I have to change one more poopy diaper, or get one more healthy snack, or brew one more pot of coffee, or bathe one more squirming child, or empty the goddamn dishwasher ONE MORE TIME, I am going to run howling into the freezing rain like a crazy woman.
How hard is it to check one's self into a psych ward? I really need a vacation.