The reason I am going to kill myself is two-fold:
Wait. Let’s stop right there. You know what the worse thing about being a parent is? You can’t even kill yourself. When on my own, I could daydream about killing myself. Ending it all. Punching that eject button. SPLAT.
Now, I can’t even do that. That is not an option. I have to be a parent. And each self-indulgent fantasy about the sweet release of death when I finally have time to kill myself? All those daydreams are interrupted by the sad expressions on the face of my children.
I’m trying to be the center of the universe here, and there they are on their wedding days, crying because their mother selfishly ended her own life. BUZZKILLS.
So, I guess I’m not going to kill myself.
But I am going to whine.
Do you know how much of a mindfreak it is to clean the same mess every single day? It’s like going to the same party for 20 years, only without the buzz. Most of the time.
These children are killing me. I cannot keep up. I would do better to give them lighters and follow them around with a fire extinguisher. That would be quicker to put out than sweeping up a pound of cornmeal while they smear poop on the walls.
This stage of life is too much and there are too many of them and they are trying to end me.
They are using chairs and other objects to stack and climb to access off-limits materials. They have some type of underground laboratory where they retreat to manufacture permanent markers because I SWEAR we rid our house of ALL REAL INK several months ago.
I am blogging instead of cleaning right now because if I have to look at my filthy kitchen one more time, I will kill … I will … I don’t know. Do something DRASTIC. (Just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?)
Something that will NOT send me to jail, because I don’t want to miss my daughter’s wedding for being in the slammer.
UGH. I am a moth. Crushed by the wheel.
I spent the entire week last week scrubbing every corner of my house because I could no longer stand living in the filth.
I said to myself, “This is going to be so nice to finally live in a clean house. I’m NEVER going to have to do this again.”
I totally ignored my children, justifying that all this cleaning and reorganizing now would allow me unhindered time to play with them later. Finally, we could cross 30 or 40 things off those lists on Pinterest, “101 Things to do in winter with your toddler.”
Do you know how long my clean house lasted?
And the only reason it lasted that long is because WE WERE NOT IN IT.
Five days of non-stop work and it was back to filth in TWO DAYS.
There is no point to my existence.
That is all.
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