Lightning Crashes

Not again. Please, not again. Darkness descends upon me and once again I find myself being consumed by it. In shocking flashes of light, I see my life passing me by as I continue to fall so deep into despair, there is seemingly no chance to escape its grasp . I close my eyes and I am reeling into a cavern so deep, sunshine does not touch its walls. Smooth and cold, there are no footholds. There is no escape. A prisoner in my own mind. Why can't I forget? Why can't I escape the pain, the fear, the heartache, of this aching and numbing depression? Why can't I emerge from the storm?

Mama Kat's Writing Prompt 6.25.2011: A Country you would like to Visit--FRANCE

4) A country you would like to visit: FRANCE

France brings to mind so many things for me. The Eiffel Tower. Love. Art. But let's be honest, what it really makes me think of are open air markets. Of fresh baguettes. Of delicious vintage wines. Roadside cafes. Fresh produce. Fields of lavender. For me, this is France. The Louvre? Lovely. The Mona Lisa? A must see. But the true France is in it's taste, in its smell and in its soil. France is more than monuments and galleries and haute couture. To love France is to feel it coarse through your veins and let it wash over you encompassing you mind, body and soul.

This brings me to my most secret of secrets. Can you keep a secret? It's my biggest dream of any dream I've dreamed.... I want to sell nearly (I mean there are some things you just can't part with) everything I own, pack up my family and pets and move to a quaint stone house in a field in Provence. Oh my gosh, I can't believe I told you! It's my "crazy dream" because it will probably never happen, but in my mind its beautiful.

My quaint stone cottage sits near a beautiful lavender field. There is enough yard for Sadie and the dogs to be happy romping. In the mornings, Sadie and I will enjoy our breakfast (weather permitting) on our patio in the gorgeous Provencal sunshine. After washing up, we will ride our bikes into town to the open air market where we can buy our fresh produce, fresh breads, beautifully baked goodies, fresh flowers for our table and stock up on our wine selections. We can chat with our neighbors and enjoy small town French life. With our baskets full we ride home and prep for lunch and dinner before maybe taking a nap or doing some reading. Our afternoons are filled with enjoying the outside air, playing ball with the dogs, taking long walks through the seemingly endless fields of lavender or perhaps joining the neighbors on a mushroom hunt. Regardless of what the day entails, in my mind, it is all quaint and perfect and beautiful and utterly mine.

My Provencal life is calling to me. Perhaps I should get ready for quite a yard sale?

Stick a fork in me?

I was sure it was never going to happen to me. How could it, after all? I love my little Bug beyond measure. Her infancy was a breeze. She was an easy and delightful baby. But, this....this, "toddlerhood"..... is like a punishment for something I did that was very, very, very bad. I'm exhausted. I'm snappy. I'm not even close to the Mommy I want to be. I am.....a Mommy burnout. I know, I know. It's terrible. I'm so embarrassed. But, the screaming, the throwing, the tantrums, the talking back, the whining, the demands, the touching, the grabbing, the pushing, the..... terribleness of age two.... it's so overwhelming. Where is my darling, curly-haired, angelic baby girl? It's like something has invaded her body and I feel the need to call an exorcist.

Do they have Mommycations? Is it okay to take a break from your child? I mean, I feel so guilty for wanting to do so. I mean, billions of Mommies have survived the terrible two's and come out without much permanent mental scaring, I'm told. But, I need a break! I'm gonna snap! Since my unfortunate unemployment, the stress of the Sadietude had only gotten worse. Now, we spend all day, every day together. And, I mean that pretty literally. Since she doesn't sleep through the night, she usually wakes up next to me in bed, no matter how hard I try, we spend every moment together until her nap time (yes, that includes bathroom time--apparently, I can't do that on my own--Sadie, the dogs and cats need to supervise), then I'm here when she wakes up and we're together until she goes to bed. And I go to bed roughly an hour or maybe two after that--I try to take time for me--tv, reading, computer...etc, but really I just want to sleep without a little body scooching me off the edge of the bed because she has to sleep on Mommy's pillow.

Just a few days? Please? Wouldn't you think I'd be a better Mommy? Or does it make me a worse Mommy? Stay at home Mommies do it all the time, right? All day every day...and a lot of the time with more than one kid! Maybe I'm just not made of tough enough Mommy material? I feel myself floundering...

Mama Kat's Writing Prompt 6.19.2011: What's your number one [writing] pet peeve? Develop a punishment for anyone caught in the act.

Okay, Mama Kat. I've had to slightly modify your writing prompt. Because, really? Narrow my pet peeves down to one, single, biggest pet peeve? Yeah. That's a task of, like, epic proportion. Supercomputers at NASA or Microsoft or somewhere SUPER smart like that would be necessary to start to break down the complicatedness going on inside my brain to even begin to come close to narrowing down my pet peeves to just one biggest pet peeve. If you ask those in the know, they'd probably tell you that I hate everything, but that's SO not true! I'm just a ridiculously picky snob. ;)

However, dear Mama, it was so simple to pick my number one writing pet peeve that I just added one little word to your otherwise brilliant prompt. So, let me break it down for you.

IMPACT

and

AFFECT

Fellow human beings of the world-- these words are NOT interchangeable.

An impact is a collision of some kind. A force of two things coming together: BOOM! Impact.

An affect is the result of something, but not something that hits you .

For example: The overwhelming sadness of the move to Oregon had a significant impact on the boy's developing social skills.

NO! NO! NO! NO! Did the poor boy get physically hit by his move to Oregon and an invisible force went ninja on his future social skills? I'm going to say that's doubtful.

The overwhelming sadness of the move to Oregon had a significant affect on the boy's developing social skills. Ahhhh. Now, doesn't that feel better? It sounds better and, more importantly, you're using the RIGHT WORD!

Now let's get to punishment...I've had to really think about this...You get to be a crash test dummy. Be part of crashing a car right into a wall so you can tell me how the impact affected you. :)

www.mamakatslosinit.com

Is this thing still on?

I know, I know. Where have I been. It seems so like me though, doesn't it? To just completely abandon a project and then come back over a year later and just expect it to be here, ready and waiting for me to resume. And, of course, I assume I remember how to resume it. That is the easy part of talking to yourself though. Can you forget how? Doesn't everyone have an internal monologue? (I'm told, yes everyone has one; no, not everyone is annoying enough to expect everyone to read it. Noted.)

So, here's the skinny. I now find my self among the 9.1% of Americans that currently count themselves as unemployed. (Okay, so that's a May 2011 number, but it's gotta be in that ballpark the new numbers don't come out until July 8, 2011.) Yes, friends, I have been "shit-canned". We talked about it, we freaked out about it, we panicked about it, we even joked about it...and then it actually happened! Who saw that coming?! I am, as one would expect in these difficult economic times, devastated. And then again, not. Did I even really like the job? No, I hadn't for a long time. Was I happy there? No, it was slowly crushing what was left of my withering soul. Then what the heck is wrong with me?? Well, honestly, most of it, is a little bit of pain at the rejection. Our program had only recently been taken over by a new director and regional manager. They don't know us. They don't know our students. They don't know how well we operate. But there's not enough money (but they don't have their budget allocation for the year yet...), there aren't enough students (okay, they can have that one, enrollment is down across the entire college system), but here's the kicker: my students don't show enough academic progress. Well, you know what that means, don't you? It can't possibly mean that I teach low level students who test in at grade school levels and have a myriad of learning disabilities, not to mention their sporadic attendance and, literally, mental health problems. It means I'm not a very good teacher. Why, why, oh why, did they have to go there? Could they not have left it at attendance and budgetary issues and not added that extra kick in the teeth by alluding to the fact that it's my fault my students can't make progress. Like I'm somehow sucking the knowledge out of them. Ouch, ladies. Very ouch.

So this is where I've been. At least for almost the past week anyway. Throwing a pity party. Party of One. For those of you who know me very well, you know I am like the best of pity party hostesses. I am Queen of pity party planners. Seriously, take notes. So, of course, any weight loss I had previously accomplished? Yeah, kissed that goodbye. Doughnuts. I needed doughnuts. Glazed and raspberry filled doughnuts. I bought "some" for me. (Well, leave it as "some" so I can leave this blog post with some "self-respect"...) My mother-in-law even bought some for me. Powdered and raspberry filled. (See a pattern? Direct line to my heart? Raspberry filling.) Muffins. Fig Newton Thins. Magnum Ice Cream Bars in the Double Chocolate, Double Caramel and Almond flavors.... I could go on and on, but why? You get the general idea. Gluttonous. Gelatinous. Gross. Delicious adult beverages. I have no boundaries and as I think about it, I haven't done anything worth anything this week. Laundry? Yes, but that's like a HAD to be done. Sweeping? Yes, but that's because I don't want to be buried alive under pet hair. I don't want people to think I hoard cat fur. I mean, I love it, but more ON the cat. I slept whenever possible. If you called/ texted/emailed and didn't get an answer, that's probably why. I can only assume this indulgent, disgusting behaviour will continue at the detriment of my mental health until something snaps inside, my clothes no longer fit, or I have to go to rehab.

I will overcome? (Yikes.)