February 2, 2016

I am overwhelmed.

It took me weeks to recover from the holidays. I am dying to finish editing my memoir. My mind is overflowing with blog posts I don’t have time to write. My kids want to snuggle with me all the time. I want to snuggle with my kids all the time. I want more dates with my husband. I feel attached to and protective of the women in the online fertility support groups I belong to, especially my peeps at Beat Infertility, and can’t keep up with as much support as I would love to. I need to work on my website. I still can’t handle the thought of Twitter. I should probably look into Instagram. My father in law started chemo again. Sadie started preschool two mornings a week; for three weeks it was really hard on both of us. Jack fell out of a tree. My dread of the emergency room bill that is coming is outweighed only by infinite gratitude that he is fine. Jack had a tooth infection and the dentist wrote an overdose prescription on the Friday afternoon we were leaving town. The awesome Publix pharmacist caught it. Jack got the plague for 9 days. Jack had the tooth pulled (new dentist). Sadie had the plague for 5 days. Wayne had the plague for 3 days. I haven’t had so much as a sniffle but I’ve thought about faking it for a day in bed. The whole family having the plague is not good for writing, nor reproductive trauma-induced PTSD.  I have not given enough time to a dear friend whose elderly husband recently died. My short term memory is so shot I’ve been calling myself Dory. My libido sucks. I want to write more. I know I need to title my blog posts differently but I don’t want to. I want my husband to understand what writing means to me. I want to read everything. My day job drains my soul drip by never-ending drip. Everything costs too much and I can’t believe how money flies out. I haven’t been to the beach in months or on the boat in weeks (wtf?!). I miss baseball. I need baseball. I love to eat healthy and fucking hate cooking. I hope I can always help my kids as much as my mom helps me. There are friends I really want to talk to but I can’t stand being on the phone. There are friends I want to see and I can’t seem to make plans. I am making myself crazy reading about 10 books at the same time. The bills, cleaning, correspondences, and errands are endless. I feel guilty most of the time.

Yesterday, a friend’s 18 year old son died in a car accident. I’m having trouble thinking about anything else, with the rest of this shit buzzing in the background.

I run every morning and am healthy with a family that brings me to my knees with love and gratitude every single day.

I am overwhelmed, but I am fine. Way better than fine.

Next batter.