Well, I've officially hit the end of my rope. In fact, I've passed it and now have nothing to cling to whatsoever. I'm still going through the motions, but I feel like at any moment I could decide that it's totally pointless and quit even bothering to play.
I can only think of a few moments in the past few weeks that have been possible compensation for all of this shit. When the Bear says, "You're a good mommy, Mommy," it's nice, and it makes me think that perhaps all the other crap is secondary. When Mouse lights up all over her face when I get home after work, it's ok. I like to see that.
But the rest of the time, I'm so frazzled by the mere thought of all the shit that needs doing that I can't even function. The house is filthy. Not just cluttered, but filthy. I would be ashamed for anyone to see it right now. The dishes haven't been done in days - we're all out of bottles and sippy cups. The sink is full, but the cabinets are empty. Money is t-i-g-h-t, and just the thought of that makes my chest constrict and my breathing difficult. Hello, panic attack. I've been so bogged down with meetings, etc. at work that I'm running on a class-by-class mode, just trying to make copies, get grading done, and stay one step ahead of disaster. I spend so much time sitting in meetings and pushing paper around, I hardly feel like I'm getting any teaching done. I hate that feeling - I love the hands-on work of education, but not the paper-pushing crap. I'm so behind in everything that I feel like I'll never catch up, and the levels of anxiety that's causing are really scary.
Most days I alternate between ultimate freak-out about all of the 943857345 things that have to be done and total apathy. I just don't care enough to do them. When the girls get in bed (finally) and I have my ONE HOUR out of the day to myself, I can't bring myself to do the dishes or pick up the toys or fold the laundry or sweep the floors or take out the trash or dust the furniture or throw away the piles of random junk that accumulate throughout the day in the house. So I sit for that precious hour and stare at the television, then go to bed too late, get up too early, never feel rested or refreshed, never see my husband, always feel cranky and anxious and grouchy, and would just generally like to take the world's longest vacation from all this shit. Tonight was the end of the rope. I'm not sure I can see the point in keeping all this up. Something here has got to give.