Just Me, My Bowl of Ice Cream, and My Thoughts

Friday night and I'm all alone. Well, not entirely alone. There is a sleeping two year old who until a half an hour ago was climbing all over me, kissing and hugging and generally trying every trick in her Cute Book to weasel out of going to bed. Ha. She doesn't know who she's dealing with. Obviously.

And there's the dog and the cat. But their both snoozing, too. Other than THAT, I'm all alone. Which really just equates to my husband being out of the house. He and his dad went to see local wrestling. Not local high school wrestling. Just local, adult men, wrestling. Ewww. John was NOT psyched about this plan. But when his dad gets an idea, there really is not saying "no, I'd really rather stay home and clean the eaves. In the dark. And in frigid weather. While it's snowing. Thanks anyway."

So, it's me and my ice cream. It was me and my Dove Chocolate Truffles a few minutes ago. I'm indulging a serious need to douse my troubles with chocolate. This week has suuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked. It was my first week as department supervisor at work. That in and of itself wasn't so bad, but coupled with every other stressor in my life at the moment it was really all I could do not to quietly unplug my phone, cart it to the garbage room and hide it under a pile of shredding. After smashing it with my shoe. Or a hammer.

I feel like I'm losing my grip. Just a little. I came home from work this evening, left G playing with Daddy downstairs, changed into sweats and flopped on the bed. And stewed. That is so very unlike me. Usually, to my own peril, I am a busy little worker bee when I get home. I just can't relax right away. There's dinner to make, a kid to play with, Facebook to check, chores to do...I don't actually sit down until sometime after G has been tucked in and the dishes have been done. I admit, some nights I have to push myself along as I longingly look at the couch, but most nights I'm on autopilot. Tonight, I'd just had enough. I really didn't care if anything got done or if we ate at all. I didn't even give G a bath, just put her to bed grimey.

I'm just fed up with things being so hard. This is so very cliche, I know. And shallow and selfish and stupid. But I'm just angry that things that seem* to come pretty easily for most people cost John and I dearly. It costs our mental health. Both of us are feeling the effects of all this stress and depression is setting it. It costs our relationship. It's so very hard to feel romantic or spontaneous when you are living according to a damn clinical chart. It costs us financially because of all the freaking copays to multiple doctors and pharmacies that add up over time. Believe me they add up.

Some days I really regret this decision because I knew it would be like this. I just knew it. Then I think about all the things I'm hording up in the attic and imagine giving them away, giving up so quickly and never needing them again. That breaks my heart.

I admit, though, that a quick perusal of my blog list will find several women who have what I want. And they didn't have that when I started following them. It seems every one is on the same page as I am, but my page is still blank. And it's beginning to hurt. Again. This is how it was the first time around. So very hard. So frustrating. So all consuming.

I just wanna get drunk, have sex and get knocked up. Why can't it be that easy?


*Disclaimer: I KNOW it only seems that way. Everyone has their own struggles, yada, yada, yada...I'm just not there right now. Right now, this is how I feel.