If I look beyond this computer screen I will invariably find 100 other things to do that are more pressing than writing.
There are the clothes which need put away, 96 crayons strewn across the floor, the bathroom floor is sticky with something, and if I were responsible I’d be using this time to get a jump on tomorrow’s big work project.
But things have fallen apart really badly here at Everybody’s Boy Headquarters. Our boy, he’s just really not doing very well. Every interaction is a tenuous tip-toe through a minefield. More than once I have had no recourse but to walk away from the destruction, solely for self-preservation, for wanting to stretch that last bit of mental fortitude to the extreme.
Because I fear when it is gone.
Not if it is gone, but when.
Make no mistake that as much as I love my child, as much as I own that my life’s work is his success, as much as I would give every breath for his happiness…
…this still fucking sucks.
Yes, I said fucking. No, I could not come up with a better word.
My energy is low. I’ve been on guard for 6 1/2 years. It’s combat here and the enemy is not my child.
So no, I didn’t pick up the Wubbzys and no, I didn’t go for that walk and no, I didn’t sign up for the PTA.
Instead I played Play Dough for a bit, ate MSG-infused Chinese Takeout, thumbed through a three-week old copy of US Weekly and took a nap.
Now, if you’ll excuse me…it appears we’ve stumbled across a landmine.