It's been a little crazy around here, and I just haven't been in the mood to blog. I'm still not in the mood. I've gotten a few emails, though, wondering what the hell's happened to me so I thought maybe I should say:
I'm okay. Better, even.
Last week was not pretty. I worked late every night, and still didn't get near enough done. The dog continues to not improve and, instead, seems to be getting worse. The Kid spent the week with my mom, which, instead of being a relief, made me desperately lonely. The Man will be leaving Dallas soon, which has him stressed and ill and too far away for me to do anything to help. And I'd called a "come to Jesus" kind of meeting with The Ex to deal with a handful of parenting issues, which I won't get into here out of respect for his privacy. (And because it was a difficult 3-hour conversation during which the words "fucking cunt" were spat across my dining room table, and so I'd rather just forget the specific details of the conversation and focus on the fact that - cunt aside - it went surprisingly well.*) On top of that, I've been battling ants in the kitchen, termites in the basement, rats in my garage, and raccoons in my garbage.
It was a rough week. And it was just the latest in a world series of rough weeks. I didn't want to talk about it. I still don't, really. It was bad, but it's over. And the past few days have been very, very good.
On Friday (my involuntary day off until business improves) I slept. I'm pretty sure I ran some errands too, but what I mostly remember is the sleeping. And how much better I felt afterward.
On Saturday I cleaned the house, which took a fraction of the time it usually does because it hadn't suffered the wrath of an 8-year-old in 7 straight days. At 4:00, I sat down for four hours and read an entire book, cover to cover.
I am a reader. I would spend an unhealthy amount of time with my nose pressed deep within the pages of a book if only life would allow for such things. You have no idea how cathartic it was to sit still and do what I wanted to do for as long as I wanted to do it. I felt cured when I put the book down.
Sunday, I did essentially the same thing: a few errands in the morning accompanied by an afternoon of following my fancy. And then I raced off to The Ex's, eager to pick up The Kid and begin our "staycation" together. I was SO very glad to have him home, but the hours of free time granted by those last two days apart truly saved my sanity.
And now we'll enjoy our week: a vacation I desperately need and some focused time together before The Man arrives sometime next weekish. I may post more during the vacation. Or I may not. But rest assured, this break is doing wonders for my soul.
*For the record, I was not the cunt in question. We were talking about a good friend of mine.**
**For the record, my friend is most definitely not a cunt, despite what you may have heard in my dining room on an otherwise quiet Thursday night. She is, however, in possession of a cunt, which may account for the confusion.
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