Venting

There I was, standing in my hot laundry room listening to music, trying to "quickly" iron clothes before I scurried off to write before Nora woke up from nap. A little "me" time..... Of course, the ironing took and hour and a half and in the process my brain got all muddled and irritated.

This is Adam's vacation week and we'd sort of planned it as a vacation for me, too. I was meant to spend time away from the house, visit friends, have a full writing day, even a trip to a museum. It wasn't supposed to be anything fantastic, but it was going to be the revitalizing shot in the arm my miserable heart needed to make it another year in this drudge.

So much of last year was about my endometriosis, and the subsequent treatment, that I wasn't able to carve out much time for my creative pursuits. Every time I got down about it, I told myself that it would be better next year. Well, next year is here and it's not looking very promising at all.

I know that counting your chickens before they hatch is bad idea, but it didn't seem like depending on the weak raise Adam gets every year, or the quarter of the vacation money for the vacations he wasn't able to take last year, was a risky bet. I was wrong. And rather than getting a little bit of a reprieve from the Just Broke Enough to Meet Our Basic Needs and maybe splurge on a much needed heating pad, we'll be tight-er this year. Because there is no raise, there is no extra money, there is merely another year of swallowing the bullshit lie that it will be better next year.

So I cried. Because if you're going to be useless and miserable, you might as well embarrass yourself, too.