some nights i’m on top of my game, other nights i struggle, other times it’s a mixed bag.
this last wednesday night was a struggle. (i really wish some of the other folks would post their stuff, because they came up with some lovely pieces…)
the only exercise i’m happy with is one where we’re given a word a minute (roughly) and we have to fit each new word into what we’re writing.
typically, for the evening, i started out with crap, and after two words had been given, started all over again, coming up with something i’m rather proud of.
He plays with his blocks on the floor, and I’m supposed to pretend it’s normal that they float in the air, a pair of them, yellow cylinder and green triangle, dancing around his head.
He made the stove explode one day, all because he doesn’t like the cheap store brand biscuits. Blew the kitchen windows out.
The men from the government say I have to stay with him, it’s my job, I’m his mother… and I don’t care anymore.
He refuses to go to the potty, just lays in it, and I get stabbing chest pains until I come, and change him.
I would leave if I could.
I’ve thought of killing myself, but I’ve killed him three times, and they keep bringing him back.
Why do I think they’d let me die?
listening to: Tina S. shred Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata”
mood: barely awake, but okay