I took Chuckles for a scenic ride to an out-of-the-way mailbox for nap. When I got home, I put laundry into the washer and proceeded to fill it with my tears and I haven't stopped yet. It's been 45 minutes and I can't stop crying. That's not good. In fact, I feel a tiny bit hopeless, and I am starting to understand some very unpleasant truths. I want to get hurt (don't worry, I won't actually hurt myself), but I'd like to be mildly injured, stabbed perhaps, so that I could go to the hospital and get "fixed" because that's what they do there, right? You go in broken and come out a day later all fixed - just like with my appendicitis. I am starting to think that hating my husband might be some form of anger transferrence wherein I actually am not very happy with myself.
Am I having a nervous breakdown, some form of a mid-life crisis, delayed post-partum depression, or something else entirely (like low blood sugar, maybe...no probably not since I just devoured a stack of granola bars as tall as one Thomas the Tank Engine on top of a Fisher Price dump truck)?
Every morning, I wake up and vow I will be a better person today. I will clean teh house and put away the toys and make dinner and get the boy to nap without a ride in teh car and balance the checkbook and vacuum the couch cushions and finish the taxes, and every day, when my big opportunity comes at (car-gotten) nap time, I wimp out and check email and do Sudoku until 3:35 when I realize nap is almost over and I run around tidying up like madwoman. I can't concentrate, I hate everything, I procrastinate, I cry, and I am completely unproductive (although in my defense, when Chuckles is awake, I am the model of a perfect, attentive Stepford-esque mother).
So, I gave myself three weeks from the beginning of Daylight Saving Time to get better before I called my doctor, but right now, 2.5 more weeks of this sounds like 16 million bajillion years. I feel like I have been sad for x times 19 months, where x is a variable that is really, really big.
And I think I am not thinking particularly clearly since I keep googling things about how to end my marriage painlessly. Although, right now, I am quite sure I don't want a divorce (because, my god, I have no job, how can I pay for a lawyer, let alone support myself, and really, I think my husband is a pretty good guy - just perhaps not aware of my inner turmoil).
So, I have to make a plan, because I always feel better with a plan.
- Tonight after Grey's Anatomy, I must confess the whole, horrible, most embarassing mess to my husband.
- Schedule counseling.
- Invite my dad and his family for corned beef and cabbage on St. Pat's Day, because really, on the outside, I look completely functional and a small dinner party for 10 won't make me any more stressed than I am already and will give me something to look forward to.