Some days

Some days, I want to come here and be funny and entertaining.
And some days I do.
But some days, even when I want to be funny, I can't find it.
Because some days my funny is buried under all the crappy.
Some days crappy feels like it's taking over.
Some days crappy kidnaps my thoughts and steals my breath.
Giving in to the crappy is called for some days.
Fighting back, making room for the happy & the funny, also happens some days.
Some days, I can't decide.
So maybe I'll do both.

Plate spinner

Most of the time, I come to my blog and say whatever the heck I want to say because, well, it's my blog. But today, I've gone back and forth about whether or not to write what I'm feeling. In part because I like for this blog to be a place where people can come to get their daily dose of laughter -- or at least a smile. And in part because people I know read this blog and I feel kind of vulnerable.

I looked at the titles of every post I've written in 2010, wanting to make sure that I haven't been delivering up regular doses of "woe is me." I don't think I have (at least not an overwhelming amount of woe, anyway.) Ultimately, I decided that what I value in the blogs that I read is honesty and I want to reciprocate that here.

So people, I am feeling overwhelmed. sad. crushed. broken. weary. Not over any one thing in particular, but by the convergence of several things. It's like I'm one of those plate spinners in the circus and I've been doing (I think) an admirable job of keeping those plates spinning, mostly out of necessity, a bit out of pride, a lot out of fear of what happens when those plates fall and crash to the floor in thousands of shattered pieces at my feet.

Well, this week, I have pretty much walked away from those damn plates. I have put myself in survival mode and have done just what I've needed (and the kids have needed) to do to get by.

And today, I'm waving the white flag. I took a sick day. Dropped the kids off at school, went to Weight Watchers (don't ask), came home and climbed into bed. That was more than 2 hours ago. And I don't have any intention of getting out of this bed until the kids get home from school, unless it's to take a hot bath, which I might do.

I tried to sleep, to no avail. I perused Facebook which led me to read the entire 27 pages of the story of a young mother's unsuccessful fight against cancer. When I came to the final entry, I cried. Quietly at first, for the loss her family must be feeling. For the heartache my friends who knew her are now knowing. And then, I sobbed, the grief from her story unlocking the sadness and fears about my own life that I had so successfully buried inside.

And I felt silly, stupid really. I do not have a terminal illness. My children are healthy. I have a job and people who love me. So what if I'm convinced that the teachers at school think I'm "that mother" -- that disengaged, disorganized, dis...whatever mother. So what if the bushes in the front yard need to be cut back and the garage is a mess and the inside of my car desperately needs to make friends with a vacuum cleaner. (Please don't think that's all that's driven me to this pity party. There's more, but I'm just not ready to share it all.)

But no matter how stupid I felt, I let the tears fall. Because this is my life. This is how I'm feeling and I'm determined to feel it. Not for days on end, but at least until 3pm this afternoon, at which point, I will put my big girl panties and my perma-press smile on and go back to dealing with it.

Since that's kind of what I just did, I'm tagging this post with the Pour My Heart Out button. Click it to find more heart-felt posts from other bloggers.