Today I understood why some stay-at-home moms start drinking wine at noon, pop pills, or smoke pot. There are days when all three are necessary. It’s not the first time I had the desire to indulge in noise and feeling-numbing drugs in the middle of the day. Sometimes you’ve heard the word “mom” so many times that you think the voice is not that of your child but of an evil warrior who is actually saying “die woman,” while you stand trembling in a corner of a dusty, dark cave. Sometimes the sound of their cries and whines sound like exploding bombs parallel to bad quality techno music blasting on bad speakers. Sometimes an hour feels like a day, and you find yourself changing batteries on the kitchen clock and restarting your phone just to make sure it hasn’t been a day. On a day such as this, you’re always alone, there’s no one to talk to, nobody even cares. The amount of energy you’ve spent on trying to stay calm and controlled can power a city. And sometimes, this day just never ends. Until it does. But you can no longer see, hear or think.
There’s no happy ending in this rant, no reflective positive thought, just a deep breath and a personal plea to whatever you do or don’t believe in, for tomorrow to be different. Cheers.