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Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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6:08 p.m. - 2005-08-22
9:10am Since I'm all about Change right now, I went to the perfumery and concocted a new scent for myself. I've been wearing my troika of Opium, Cinnabar and musk since college. Time for something new. After overloading my nose trying scads of essential oils, I settled on a mix of frankincense, myrrh, and cinnamon. Not way different from my signature scent, but new enough for me to be able to smell myself again. My nose is dead to my usual, so much so I can't tell if I've applied it or not. This had led to a couple of perfume disasters, inadvertently stinking out those around me after I'd absentmindedly put my perfumes on multiple times before leaving the house. I groom by rote and if interrupted can't remember where I left off. It's easier to see undone make-up, but even with that I've been known to go flying out the door with mascara on only one eye. I really hate being interrupted when I'm getting ready. Alex says the new mixture makes me smell like Pier 1. I can live with that. Pier 1 stores smell good. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 2:35pm I am furious. More furious still that I will NEVER get one iota of relief. Never get to have my say. Never get an apology. Never. I hate my life. I hate the life I've lived. I hate what's been done to me. I hate that not one single fucking person who hurt me, humiliated me, who let my blood out on the floor will ever even acknowledge that I've been hurt. I just get to drag all this anger and pain around forever and 'go forward' and 'make progress' and 'embrace the future'. It's on me. It's always on me to DEAL. It's always my fucking job to 'let go'. My job to fix and tend and chivvy and suck it up. I'm hurt and I'm pissed and I'm drowning in sorrow. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 5:39pm I've been trying to catch up on the laundry. Everything got all higgle-piggle. There were big stacks of stuff all over the cellar. Misfit linens. Outgrown stuff. A ton of clothes which HAD been winnowed out but somehow (*coff* Alex 'helping' *coff*) got tumbled back in with the rest of the piles, both clean and dirty. A truly monster effort here to get everything put to rights. So what happens after I send the SIXTH freshly done load of the day upstairs? Wolf, who'd been under orders to clean his room, decided to fling all those freshly laundered clothes back downstairs. Stood at the top of the cellar stairs and let fly. Oh, not too, too terrible, you say? Just fold them up again and make the kid put the away properly? Right. When my kid does something he really goes for it. His aim was spectacular. The majority of his stuff landed on a wet, very smelly pile of towels I'd uncovered when I stuck the 7th load (Alex's dorm room comforter) in the washer. Yeah buddy, a couple days ago my older kid had pried a wad of clean bath towels out of the washer to do his personal stuff. Why they were on the floor instead of being put in the dryer is moot. (To drag an answer out of him would enrage me further and would be useless.) So Alex had left the towels to rot on the cellar floor and then compounded things by dumping all the rest of his stuff on top of them. This afternoon I uncovered the mess, started the comforter load and went upstairs to my bathroom to relieve myself of things physical and emotional (screaming into my fluffy bathrobe is better than drowning my sorrows in vodka and egg rolls). While I was in the can screaming and peeing, that's when Wolf decided the most expedient route to a clean room was to chuck his clean clothes back into the laundry. Both children got a broadside from Righteously Pissed Mom. Alex will have to finish packing for school later. I insisted he finish the laundry. Wolf has been sent outside to pick up sticks in the yard. I have retreated to my office where I am furiously chain smoking and toking. My lungs are about to collapse, I am not any calmer, and now I have a wicked case of the munchies. I really, really hate my life, ~LA
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