Tuesday, October 9, 2012


This spring, I posted about having an up-day.

Today is not an up-day.

Today, everything is hard.  Reading is hard.  Carrying laundry downstairs is hard.  Making, eating, and cleaning up lunch is hard.

On a down-day, every good thing is hard.

These days are the ones I hide.  I don't write about this, about how I knew during breakfast that I'd be yelling before lunch, about how every single thing is a frustration and an interruption.

It's worse than it used to be.  Back in high school, college, even when I was teaching, I had these days, but it was easy to find reasons.  I was still recovering from my traumatizing first 16 years.  I was processing, I was healing.  I didn't like teaching.  There were lots of reasons to feel angry or frustrated, to sit alone and read, or think, or space out.

I take these days harder now, because I can't deal with them alone.  I can't lock myself in my room and listen to Alice in Chains and Pink Floyd until it passes.  I have a preschooler and a toddler, and they seem even more needy than usual on these days, probably because I have so much less to give.  Wiping noses, retrieving toys, making snacks, it is all hard.  And I hate that it is, and I'm just sick of myself sometimes, you know?

Today hasn't been the worst.  Lots of "Grace, please, Jesus," prayers, and we made beaded bracelets before lunch. Now it's naptime, so I'm trying to decide what is more pressing: reading my training manual for work, or taking a nap myself.

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