my mind is in such a turmoil, i can’t sit still and finish anything. i write two sentences, and decide i have to do the ironing… right now. so i go and fetch hangers, and see that the laundry box is full. so i decide to run the wash, but think that well, i can brew some coffee first, so it runs while i do the rest, right? half an hour later, i’m back in front of my pc, realize that i’ve accomplished none of the above, so i go all over it again. maybe i’m going schizo.

the worst part is, jan is taking some of the brunt. i get impatient with myself, and my nerves are frayed. jan is his usual precocious self, but my temper is at its shortest, so i end up snapping and yelling over things where i would normally simply sigh-and-bear. it doesn’t help that we’re home alone the past few days while dad is off chartering our destiny, and there’s no one else to prevent jan and i from reaching each other’s throats (figuratively speaking, of course).

but oh, the guilt. the shame washing over me each time i realize what a witch i’m being to a four year old. there’s no excuse. the truth is, i’m simply not the nurturing, loving mother you see on tv sitcoms, preparing home made minced pies, miraculously able to diffuse a tantrum with coos and soothing rhymes. i yell, i lose temper over a child’s antics, and i don’t always have the time or inclination to read a story each and every night during bedtime.

so there, cast a stone. i’m sore from the ones i’ve hurled at myself, it won’t make a difference anymore.

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