I’m very excited to report that my evil mood didn’t last twelve hours. I “ran” six miles (no that wasn’t the “schedule” but I did it anyway) but I was slower than a turtle. I’m nervous about the 10k coming up. I haven’t really been training. I’ll get through it but I believe I will hold my partner back and I feel guilty about that. I’m not honoring her commitment.

I’m not working on a book and I feel guilty about that. I haven’t emailed off No Secrets to the friend who will edit.

I haven’t weeded much. My garden is over run. I feel discouraged by losing sixty starts. I’m having a hard time motivating myself to work even though I will be grateful in the long run.

I haven’t been working on Spanish or French or ASL in the past month or so. The very idea makes me want to cry.

I have been a tremendous flaky asshole with the home schooling group lately. I’m not showing up. I am not feeling competent. It isn’t about anyone but me.

I haven’t been cooking much. I just don’t want to. I feel angry and trapped and frustrated instantly at the very idea.

Luckily the kids go to visit their Godmamas this week. I have every intention of hiding in my house for a few days and not talking to anyone. It sounds divine. Maybe I can catch up on my chores and stop hating the universe for not allowing me to get through my list of tasks.

So yesterday when I decided to go for a run first I had to find socks. That required digging through laundry. On the trip to get stuff out of the dryer I discovered that the kids (in that charming way they have every time I’m in a bad mood) dumped several dozen crackers on the floor and crunched them. Mess ~ 4′ wide by 4′ wide. Cue fury. They got put in time out. And I screeched (it wasn’t pretty) THIS IS THE LAST TIME. IF THIS EVER HAPPENS AGAIN I AM PUTTING PADLOCKS ON EVERY CUPBOARD IN THE KITCHEN AND YOU WILL GET BREAKFAST LUNCH AND DINNER AND YOU NO LONGER GET SNACKS.

Then I got out to the garage only to discover that the cat needed food and water and and… it just kept going.

When I start out wanting to go for a run and it turns into having to do a bunch of laundry and care for the cat and the kids make a huge mess (Noah actually cleaned up the crackers–God bless him) I lose my shit.

What does losing my shit mean? It means I want to hurt someone. I’m not too particular. My favorite target is, of course, myself. Yesterday I wanted to beat my head so badly I couldn’t think of much else. I wanted to drown out all of the other sounds. If I beat my head hard enough I am not capable of thinking about all of the things that I am “supposed” to be doing. It drowns out all of the noise in my brain.

It doesn’t help that both of my kids TALK NONSTOP AT THE TOP OF THEIR VOICES ALL GOD DAMN DAY EVERY GOD DAMN DAY. Sometimes it feels like my ears will fall off. Silence. Goodness I miss silence.

The thing that is hardest for me lately is: when I am angry it is about things inside me. It is not reasonable to expect other people to conform to my moods.

I can’t expect people to cater to my moods. But man I am looking forward to my kids being older. I’m looking forward to being able to say, “I am in an evil mood. It’s not your fault. I’m going to put my headset on and please pretend I’m not here.” Right now my sweet babies just can’t handle that. It’s hard on all of us.

Time passes. Things will change. I’m glad that evil moods don’t come as often as they used to. I didn’t kick a hole in the wall. I didn’t do irreparable damage to any relationships. I didn’t break anything. I cried while I was running. I was just so mad. I feel impatient, frustrated, trapped, inconsequential.

No biblical hell could ever be worse than a state of perpetual inconsequence.

I’m having trouble with scale. Right now is marathon-style terrible preparation work. Where is my instant gratification? But I’m so bogged down with marathon-scale prep work that I cannot even vaguely imagine taking a break for instant gratification. I would fall into an exhausted ball on the floor and cry. Just can’t. Not right now.

This is where I used to go pick someone up. That’s instant gratification. I bet that’s why I went to the bar. But I can’t pick someone up. Sex with Noah just… isn’t the same kind of thing. I feel bad about that. He would like it if it was the same. I love him. Sex with him is different.

Most recently I was reading about sexual dysfunction for PTSD and looking at how the brain operates with arousal/numbness. Ah. That’s why I like one night stands and people who beat the shit out of me. That’s why the nice bunny sex in the dark is not so orgasmic. I’m safe. Safe=not aroused.

The problem is, most of my brain arousal manifests as anger. I can’t use it as fuel for finding sex partners. Fuck, fight or flee. I can’t really do any of the above. Sex with Noah isn’t really fucking lately. I’m happy about that. If he tried I might smack him in the face. I don’t have patience for that from him right now. What we are doing is ok.

This is new. Well, I suppose other people have been managing not having these options for  most of their lives. Ha. That must be very frustrating. But I see the value in learning it during childhood so that your mistakes have less lasting impact. Err, not that I’m going to let my children learn during childhood. Wait, all the modifiers in this paragraph are confusing.

The whole fuck/fight/flee thing is instinctual for everyone. Most people are not really permitted to follow these urges during childhood. They have to suppress them. I didn’t learn most of the normal coping methods. It’s weird feeling so immature. The ridiculous impulsivity. But I can learn it. Everyone else learned it. Other people make mistakes like cheating on their spouses as adults. Ha.

Ack. Breakfast.