Obviously, my blog project has sagged under the weight of my world these past few months. Ever since my father died. Not consciously because of his death, although I like to use that as an excuse. According to my therapist brother, we are all depressed. He called me today from the doctor's office where he went to get a prescription for sleeping pills.
If only I could afford to take sleeping pills. But somebody has to get up with the children. My therapist brother has a child, but said child has graduated to the sleeping through the night level. My youngest child has not. Diego was UP at 3:30 a.m. today. Probably because he's sick and can't breathe well enough to sleep. At 4:15, I finally got up with him, so over his bouncing up and down on my body, yacking "la da da da La dadadada, translated as "Ride a Cock Horse to Bambury Cross."
I was nauseous with fatigue for most of the morning.
I look at this blog and I get frustrated. Where am I? I cannot for the life of me get to point B from point A without having to navigate the whole alphabet in between. If this blog is B, I'm still at M. And speaking of B&M, my days are so totally solid with shit.
So that's where I am. In the shit. And I would love some shit-lifting pills.