Reading a gardening blog with pictures of a tattooed person holding a vegetable, and it occurred to me why I would never get a tattoo. I get bored really quickly. When I can, I am always moving the furniture around, reorganizing the cupboards, the drawers, whatever. My pictures here on the laptop, which completely screws up my blog posts, but I never remember that til after I’ve done it. So I’d look at that tattoo for awhile, then I’d start to think something like, “You know, I bet I’d like a ??? better than this ???”. Or, “Why did I pick that? I don’t even like it. This would look so much better. Or maybe it would look better on my ??? rather than here on my ???. Maybe a different color…” So never getting a tattoo on purpose.
On the illness side of things, been having a rather major meltdown for the past several days, along with a fuzzy brain which is badly affecting my memory. Not sure why I’m having either. Well, I kind of did figure out the meltdown part. I am having a very hard time adjusting to feeling like crap and being exhausted, because the brief ‘normal’ period was so grand and I want it back. I’m also having a really hard time adjusting to not having my Traci here twice a week. It’s like losing my best friend, one I could always count on to show up, and who always made me laugh. We had some really great discussions, too. So it occurred to me, before, when I was having a really bad period, I could count on Traci to show up and do what needed doing without question or even direction. I am still working things out with the new new homemaker, and I guess I was feeling like it was all on me and I just wasn’t physically able and panic, panic, panic. And the stupid cat keeps throwing up everywhere for no known reason and there’s cleanup every single morning and sometimes during the day as well. Very frustrating, and it all was just overwhelming me.
Now for the bad part. I involved my poor daughter in the meltdown and made her feel bad and now I feel like a total shit. I did not move back to Colorado to take care of my mom. I did not go visit her. I couldn’t. I wanted to, but I truly was not capable enough. This does not make me a bad person. I did the best I could at the time. Did not stop me from FEELING like a bad person, and that is what I’ve done to my daughter. You know, the one who came down every single day when I had the knee surgery, rushed around on the early home-coming day to purchase all the aids I would need. Held my hand in the hospital, because no one ever holds my hand anymore. That daughter. So not feeling like the best mother in the world, but am hoping she realizes that she is doing the best she can, and that is enough, and that I love her to bits. Also, rats. I suck.