I don't know why or when this happened, but this week I have just been so blocked. It's as though the anti-depressants are adding a filter from my brain to my mouth - or in this case, my fingers.
I am feeling a bit fuzzy on things today and woke up (an hour late) in a generally sour mood. I still beat all of my bosses to work, so there is that.
Yesterday was an awesome day so perhaps I should have been prepared for the let down of a Thursday that feels like a Monday because the office was closed for Yom Kippur. Ah, the day of atonement, the day of asking for grace. It was a marvelous day.
The child went to school.
The Hubs went to work.
I was left at home to my own devices for a full 8 hours. All alone (unless you count the cat and the chickens, which I don't because the cat sleeps ALL day and the chickens live outside) to watch whatever I wanted to watch, to do whatever I wanted to do. (Unfortunately, my only plan was to wash clothes and dishes and clean the laundry room. I am really lacking in imagination and ingenuity.)
Do I feel guilty for not wanting my loved ones to be with me on one of the few days off that I get? Nope. In fact, I find myself craving that peace, that tranquility, that aloneness that makes the together that much sweeter.
I suppose I shouldn't say that out loud. It kind of wreaks of bad taste and un-motherli-ness, but, while we are here, lets just call it what it is. Selfish.
I refuse to feel guilt or shame or selfishness for wanting a minute (or several hours) that are just mine. I don't feel guilty for buying foods that I know the child or the Hubs will not eat, in fact, I buy those things SPECIFICALLY because I know that they will not touch them. These are my few and small victories, these are the small things that I get because everything else I have gets colored, stepped on, dropped in the toilet, or otherwise broken.
I can no longer own makeup, nail polish, razors, or any other accoutrements that allow me to feel like a woman. I can no longer be in my kitchen cooking dinner for my family without the willful intervention of a too-loud-after-a-long-day-of-work-almost-5-year-old and the Hubs who decides that while I am cooking dinner is the only time of the entire day that he can possibly wash any dishes at all. I only ever get to use the bathroom by myself at work.
Why should I feel guilty or selfish or shame because I need to spend some meaningful time with ME (while washing their dirty clothes and dishes?)
I don't. Not at all.
It's a new place for me, this guilt free world.