I should have gotten up and started painting. I didn’t.

I should have gotten up and did a bunch of work on the end-of-year-financial-post. I didn’t.

I should have gotten up and folded laundry. I didn’t.

I should have gotten up and cleaned the living room. I didn’t.

Instead I read about peoples lives on the internet.

My body hurts so much. I’m at the point where I’m probably damaging myself again. I’m working long past “acceptable load” for my body.

I want this remodel over with and the only way to get to that point is to do a fantastic amount of work. But I hurt. I’m taking Ibuprofen at a fantastic rate. Usually I suffer through not taking it. I can’t right now.

But the remodel work is on top of home schooling. And washing god damn dishes all fucking night and day. And my Bonus Kids are here for a few days. Lemmetellya having kids around… is work. Even if you get nothing done. Mediating arguments and fights. Helping them divvy up spoils of war. It’s work.

Teaching children how to be civilized human beings instead of feral animals is work.

I’m tired. I feel like no amount of work is enough and I’m drowning. And I’m too fucking cold to take my pajamas off to put fucking painting clothes on. My bones hurt. So I sit here and cry because I feel lazy and pathetic because I’m whining about why I’m not working instead of just getting some god damn work done when the kids are asleep and distracted.

I want my pain levels under a 3. Right now things are banging between 5 & 7 and it’s going to get worse before this project ends.

I’m having a hard morning and no one else is awake yet. That’s not a great sign. I should medicate. Now. Then…. I don’t know. Probably more crying.

Ok, I did almost two hours of work on the end of year review. I’m not a complete waste of oxygen. Now to deal with children who are whining because they don’t get to be first every time.