Your giant bedbugs will only leave because you divorced it. A bedbug is something that wakes you throughout the night with its bloodthirsty teeth. My bedbugs teeth are huge and have a little droll coming from one side. It has only bit me for fun but it makes threatening noises all night keeping me awake and sucking me dry of sleep. I try to turn it over or shove a pillow under its head and, occasionally, on to its face but it is to no avail. The bedbug must be fumigated to sleep in another room or divorce will be its only option.
I have been considering what should be written on my urn. I don’t want a boring, ugly urn but a fabulous vase with something mildly witty written on it. Ideas so far are:
“She was bound to end up here.”
“Don’t confuse with potpourri.”
“Rub three times, and a genie will pop out.”
“Smoke only if you want to trip for four days.”
“She arrived against her better judgment.”
“Let me out”
Maybe I can have an etch-a-sketch urn so you can write what you want or ohhh, perhaps some harry potter-esque one that changes automatically every few weeks. So many fun ways to traumatize my family when I am gone – good times.
Isn’t it strange that people think you are in their play? I mean I know the worlds a stage and all that but seriously. My mother-in-law often tells me what to do or how what I am doing is wrong when I do things differently from her. I have defined the word differently for her, but it is of no use. I am a bit character in her play and demands I respond the way she wrote the line, but I don’t even have a copy of the damn script! Also, I did not ask to play the role of inadequate daughter in law. If we are going to continue, I want some time at the writer’s table so I can make this story a whimsical comedy or a sweet dramedy. My story of the poor hapless girl forced to be verbally abused by a wicked mom in law is an old one…
OH SNAP I AM CINDERELLA!! Where in the hell is my fairy godmother? That bitch has been absent far too long. Plus as Cinderella it all fits, I am mentally unbalanced and talk to animals although none have made me clothes or helped me clean. Also, I would love, and I mean love to wear a fancy ballgown and go to a ball. I know its cliché but to wear a sparkly dress and twirl is the equivalent to a great roller coaster ride. But currently, the way my fairy tale is going I am probably going to end up with an ogre for a godmother, a polyester pantsuit and an invitation to a really dull teacher meeting.
It took me eight years to realize my son and daughter had ADHD. Up until that point, I was an insane person and a terrible mother, so I told myself. We love to inflict pain upon ourselves when it seems there are no logical answers. I was a bad mother because I had two toddlers that never stopped talking, moving and destroying items. I was legit legally insane by the time I sought medical attention for my children. My husband was on a boat all the time so I was on my own with the crack head toddlers. My life consisted of waking exhausted to a day where little would get done because of the demands on my attention. I was lucky to take a shower much less empty the dishwasher. All of us passing out by eight at night was the only solace my soul had in my Alice in Wonderland world. I felt like a child abuser worthy of prison when I would occasionally give my children Benadryl so I could watch a movie or do anything for myself. That is why it took so long to get help because the voice inside me told me that I was a horrible mom and I was terrified a medical professional would verify my fears. We are a different family now with medication and behavioral modification counseling. Mom gets to rest and is happy to see the day and my children are doing well in school and succeeding which has done wonders for their confidence and mine. So please if this sounds familiar say to yourself “Self, I am not insane nor a nightmare mother and I need help!” And if the first doctor tells you they are just rambunctious and its hard to be a mom (true story) go find another that will talk some sanity to you.
It is 3 am, and I have insomnia again. I sometimes wonder if I am supposed to sleep four hours a night. Maybe my brain is special, and sleep deprivation does not affect it. Although I am sure, this blog post proves that wrong. Sleep is as elusive as a wisp of smoke. We have an abusive relationship as it bullies me with exhaustion during the day while leaving my brain teeming with words all night. The words are so loud at night they demand to be heard.
I had a parent-teacher conference with an upset parent about something I had said in class. It is 3:30 and I am disheveled and exhausted from forcing 150 seventh graders to learn English, the damn language they speak.
After some niceties, she informed me that I said in class that I thought “children tasted delicious.” I retorted that she should not be concerned because her child did not look particularly scrumptious but if my feelings changed I would let her know IMMEDIATELY. She indignantly said her child was in fact yummy. We both burst into laughter and laughed and laughed about murdering children and cannibalism for suppers. She never called for a conference again, but I like to think she “got me” rather than being terrified of the deranged teacher her child was legally forced to spend an hour a day with at school.