According to the statistics provided by the ever-helpful WordPress gnomes, my last post was in October. Hmm…my, where hath the time doth flown?
I started blogging back when His Awesomeness was a wee-ish tot as an outlet for frustration and angst (and whatever else you’d like to call it) on the parenting front and it morphed into an occasional commentary on life, marriage, and quilting liberally sprinkled with my native tongue, sarcasm.
Mostly it’s fun. Who doesn’t like kvetching about offspring, stretchy pants that don’t stretch, and parent teacher conferences where you’d really like to pull a Rhett Butler and ‘frankly, my dear…’ but don’t want to be that mom?
I have a sense of humor: morbid at times, definitely off color (because vulgar is my second language) and occasionally totally inappropriate for the moment. So be it. Or should I say ‘fuck it’? And yes, I spelled out the entire nasty word. No asterisks today for you in blog land.
I haven’t felt funny, upbeat or remotely human in ages.
I could point at any number of things, all of which most of us deal with at some point in our lives, so it’s not as though I’m saying I’m special. I’m just…done. It feels achingly familiar to the post partum depression I had the pleasure of experiencing after the arrival of the spawn minus the plan to do myself in. And yes, at that time I gave it serious study.
All in all, things are going swimmingly for The Co-Defendants. Hurrah! We are passing with flying colors (grades, not gas…well, both, but gas involves glitter because my little snowflakes are special), getting along (at school, at home not so much) and one of them has even found amor. So it isn’t them. I haven’t had to bury a body so you know it isn’t Himself, bless his heart.
It’s me. I admit to being a Type A personality, as near to anti-social as one can get without garnering the crazy cat lady moniker and not getting in the least that whole human contact thing. The humor has fled. I don’t feel funny; I feel angry. Angry me is unpleasant. It’s seething and simmering. Hell, I don’t even like me.
So if you all will bear with me while I figure it all out, I’ll come back and be kinda-sorta-mostly funny. And if the f-bomb has run you off, well, I guess I’ll wish you well and you exit stage right. Watch the last step though…it’s a doozy.
If there’s anything funny about it, just know I’m typing this on the toilet and trying to wrangle a phone and a needy dachshund at the same time. There’s a visual…and maybe some humor.
Until then, I’m afraid I am one giant stagnant soup of fuck-it-all.