Author Archives: admin

P. M. S.

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I have been in the worst mood all day long. Actually, I’ve been like this since yesterday. I’m just so tense and agitated, and everywhere I look all I can see are the negative sides to anything. It’s like wearing bitch goggles. Worst of all, I can’t control it. I cannot control how or what comes out of my mouth. I feel relieved when I lash out on someone, but I’m pretty sure it sucks for everyone else.

I’m at that place where I’m not really all that sorry for being mean. Unless I hurt my kid’s feelings, I’m not open to apologizing. I feel somewhat just. The house is a mess, I have a ton of homework and studying to do, literally, a metric tonne. I am taking an 8 week course, I have to get ready for a test that covers 4 chapters in a really short amount of time, not to mention that I have to read a boring book and do a paper on it, and I still have my 12 week philosophy course that is going to cause my brain to overheat before I know it, and there is just so much more that I am going to cry over if I think about it too much. I’m overwhelmed.

I’m also bloated, acne-ridden, anxious, and craving chocolate.

Thats all I really wanted to say. I don’t handle this woman business very well.

 

 

 

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Bad writing

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I have been writing this post all about our anniversary, which was last Saturday, for the last 5 days. It was open on my computer this entire time, right up until today when I gave up on it. I had this grand plan for it in my head, how I was going to write about how riding a horse is a metaphor for life and relationships, and somehow tie it in to mine and Vance’s life, and blah blah blah. I just got stuck somewhere. I was able to open Word and write this long, cohesive post about something else entirely that I wasn’t intending for anyone to see, but I couldn’t recap how we spent our anniversary. It was just coming too scatterbrained and forced. That’s not how writing should be. For me, writing is expression, and that means it doesn’t always need to be perfect. But it does need to make sense and be finished.

So there is no long post about our 5 year anniversary, which was a week ago now, but you all do deserve to know something about it. Here you go:

We went horseback riding on a ranch in Bertram. Vance’s horse was tiny, mine was gigantic, I got motion sickness, hilarity ensued. But I still had fun, and I still love riding horses.  I think next time I will probably request a smaller horse. Here is a picture for your enjoyment:

From the back of my horse

Really, does it need to be all poetic and lyrical and shit? Do I need to gush over our life and how we spend it and how beautiful things are in order for a post to be readable? No, not if it ends up contrived.

I am trying my hardest to get used to the act of sitting down and writing on a regular basis. I am in the process of earning a degree in Journalism, a profession that revolves around writing. This is my practice. I am hoping I can just sit down and write with ease and have gold and perfection flow from my fingertips like it’s nothing. For now, it’s about wanting to sit down and hoping that it comes out comprehendable. Sometimes, like right now, I am really fucking tired when I sit down to do this.

 

 

Morning person I am not

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I am just going to be brutally honest here: I don’t like my kids in the morning. I also don’t like the sunshine, noise, my spouse, really anything or anyone most mornings.

I’ve been battling a cold that’s causing thick mucus to build in the back of my throat and my attempts to cough it up have been keeping me up until 1 or 2 in the morning. It’s the most annoying thing ever. I wake up an hour before my alarm is set to go off to the baby crying from his crib. I put him in my bed, nurse him, and then he proceeds to crawl all over my face and knock things off my of nightstand, disgustingly happy about it the entire time. Then every morning like clockwork, Deven runs into our room, crawls into the bed, and might or might not go back to sleep, depending on how excited his brother is to see him.

When we finally go downstairs, it’s non-stop noise, the most obnoxious high-pitched squealing and crying you have ever heard coming out of a four-year-old’s mouth, all in the name of trying to communicate with his brother.  Of course, this just annoys Archer so much he cries. My head throbs, so I yell at him to stop — yes yell, as my patience is paper thin in the morning — and my voice is too hoarse from the phlegm. It’s so frustrating.

And I ask him to get ready, and he argues. I tell him to get ready, he argues some more. I tell him anything and he just argues with me.

Any other time of the day, they are greatest things on the planet, but the mornings definitely make this a tedious job. For all I do for them, I think I have the right to vocalize my frustrations with hands-down the most contentious time of the day.