You Deserve a Medal For Reading This

This blog is totally on life support. Concerned family members stand off to one side, wringing their hands and wiping tears.

"It's time," they say. "There's no brain activity, no sign of life." It's all very dramatic. Very Lifetime movie-ish. "Let it go. Pull it."

"Go towards the light of blogging heaven, where witty and lovely posts write themselves, no longer needing the attention of a stressed-out and overextended owner. Go on, it's okay."

Um, yeah.

Anyway, I'm not handling this multitasking thing well.

"Your blog is suffering," my husband told me the other night.

"I know. When do I have time to write?"

I've actually thought quite a few times of just letting it go: composing a brief message of gratitude and thanks and good-byes and just cruising off into the post-blogging sunset. It would be one less thing.

No, there's no requirement to blog. I could write one damn post a year if I wanted. But if you have one, there's usually a reason. It's something you want to maintain; a place to go and spill it, if you need. And I like to spill -- my hot eviscera onto this black page, steaming in the chilly air of winter.

Wow that was gross!

I've been walking around (or running, really, is a more adequate word for the way I've been moving) with this terrible knot in my stomach. Really high up, just under the ribs. It starts in the morning when I pour a single cup of coffee and retire to the couch for the briefest respite before the day begins.

"I cannot turn off my head," I tell my husband.

Getting the two girls ready for school is, some days, a monumental challenge. Who'da thunk it? There's fighting, potty-time (now with privacy required!), arguments about socks and tights, and a running commentary on what I do to get ready. (For instance: "Mom, are you trying to brush away your pimples?")

And speaking of pimples...my face looks like a fucking pizza. I don't want to leave the house. I'd prefer to just lie under my covers and cry a bit.

And of course, I think medicine might be the answer.

Bad Kelly: You just need a little Trazadone and Xanax.

Goog Kelly: Yoga.

Bad Kelly: Make a call, pay the co-pay, fill the prescription.

Good Kelly: Take care of yourself.

Bad Kelly: Those drugs will chill you out. You need them.

Good Kelly: Take a b-complex.

Bad Kelly: Fuck the b-complex! Bring on the anti-anxiety pills!

(Sigh.)

Anyway, I'm not feeling my best. And instead of writing regular posts and looking for support, I really feel like running away.

To break or not to break. I suppose that is the question. I appreciate that you're even here, since I've given you nothing, really. I appreciate if you check in to see if I've updated. I do, very much.

I just have to figure out this balance thing: kids, house, work, school, volunteering. Quite frankly, a tunnel in Pakistan sounds really appealing. I might run in to what's his name, but I can totally take him.