Managed to have a few moments to reflect on STUFF today, despite the fact that I took three of the children out and about town and were nearly mauled by all the tourists.
Turns out I apparently like to be the martyr? At least there seems to be something appealing about it because otherwise I wouldn’t keep doing it. It was way past lunchtime and everyone was getting very whiny so I panicked and just went into the first (very French) café I saw. Children were very happy, me not so much. Also turns out I’m a bit of a Scrooge? Les galettes cost from €9 and up, the tap water was €1. So they got the ones with Nutella and were superexcited (we have very little sugary stuff at home) and I got (wait for it) NOTHING. I was so cheap and grumpy because they would charge me for water that I just decided that I would go without. I also got tense in my mind regarding the calories. (Yes, in some ways I am that shallow. I blame it all on the patriarchy by the way.) Very stupid because I was very hungry and getting grumpier by the second. So there we were, the kids happy and me just looking away in the distance and feeling sorry for my self. I SACRIFICED my lunch so that they could have theirs (we’re on a rather tight budget at the moment but not THAT tight, this was just ridiculous behavior, seriously, so stupid and futile). Pityparty for one, please. I sulked. They picked up on it and I felt slightly embarrassed but not as embarrassed as I should have felt. I was being such a killer of joy. ‘Oh, no, nothing for me thanks.’ Why have I resorted to this immature shit to get attention? So stupid. I really need to stop doing that. So that was one of the things I realize that I do and that I have been doing for quite some time and I really need to get over that.
The other was just the fact that being hungover all the time makes you work so hard at doing everything as you would if you were a normie. It takes so much effort and adrenaline/cortisol to hide the fact that you downed a bottle and a half on a tuesday night because you were bored and ended up in the laundry room doing sexy dance moves to some old Lil’ Kim-songs. (Yes. I’m sorry but that really is what I used to do.) Anyway. Such stress all the time to cover up shit and try to excuse your behaviour and so on. All of a sudden I put this next to the fact that I have never in my life been able to do any work at all if it’s not just before a deadline. My brain seem to be rather used to, or prone to seek out these stress-levels. Haven’t got any clever conclusions to this, just put the two together. Loving to do everything last minute and. Nah. It doesn’t hold up. One is a good adrenaline rush, the covering up-crap was just bad in every way. But there’s a lot of self-sabotage going on, that’s for sure. *See the inability to finish a degree or finish ANYTHING for that matter. If I get to 97% finished that’s it. Painting the childrens room? Sure thing! Do everything except those strips of wood down by the floor. Look only at those strips of wood the following four years and be discontented. Write a book? Sure! I’ve written two! Without an ending. Get your driver’s license? Sure, I’ll do it. 15 years of lessons and I still haven’t taken the test, not even once. This fear of failing seems to be connected to my inability to finish something, because if it’s not finished then it can not be deemed a failure because it is still a work in progress? Am I that simple? (Voice in my head goes Nooo, but you’re SPECIAL! I really seem to have stopped developing emotionally at around 17.)
Maybe the habit of quitting is just the old fear of rejection. Better quit while you’re ahead, before you get caught, before they see you for the fraud you are. It’s taking control of who’s doing the rejecting. (Is that a word?) I’ve never been dumped by a boyfriend. Not because I am The Best Girlfriend Ever, oh no, rather the opposite. It’s just that I’ve always been the one to take control and end things before they could. Never been fired but have handed in my resignation oh so many times. Are all my actions in life based on fear?
Oh, HALT. Think I pretty much had all of the letters today, I was hungry, angry, felt all alone and slept like a miserable cow last night. Guess who got THE worst craving for wine when we were at the café? That’s right, this Mother of the year right here. And of course they served a couple of ladies to my left some chilled rosé and I nearly screamed.
So this long rant has just been me talking to myself basically. Sorry. Maybe I should put something funny here at the end as a little treat? I read this today and it made me chuckle. Some teenager on the internet was obviously feeling both miserable and poetic and wrote:
‘Being born is satire.’ Then some genius replied ‘Being born with goat legs is satyr.”
Thank you and good night.