Per the challenge 'write for half an hour a day, for seven days'. Instructions: set the timer, write. The timer dings, stop writing, then post. yikes.
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brain dump: mad drinking skills. T has mad drinking skills and I'm a lightweight. I should be though, kidney disease and all. wait. back up where's the rest of the writing ritual? I have superthin socks on that fit into my favorite coppery heels. show some respect for your husband. he mustered the troops out the door and over to the rec center so I can work.
It's like this, I'm a mom, with a stay at home budget and life. I want to be satisfied with attempting a well-oiled machine kind of existence, with preparing only the healthiest meals for my beautiful boys, my family. And I do take pleasure in doing those things, so long as they're not the only things.
"Devil inside, devil inside. Every single one of us, a devil inside."
That's my problem. A devil inside. A devil that has zero respect for housewives, despite demonstrated difficulty and mad skills needed to get the job done. I don't want to be anybody's bitch. And yet I'm everyone's bitch. I had no idea that motherhood would make me everyone's bitch. Familial slavery (on bad days). So where does this attitude come from? my dad, who required worship? A man born of his own childhood pain. His mother died when he was a boy. Of polycystic kidney disease (PKD), His father, a doctor, could not save her. Dialysis was brand new, but too late. The bottle became his father's solace, and nature too. Fishing trips. Lot's of fishing in Alaska and then back in Texas, where the local cops would stop him on his swervy drives home. They might have said, "Hey there Dr. Barr, let's get you home. Officer Pete here will drive your car the rest of the way. Nice catch today, Dr. Barr." Maybe grandpa set this man's arm, aftermath of local bar fight or maybe he birthed this man's three sons. The way it was back then, GPs in small towns saw it all. They were the closest medical help, period.
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