Bent Words

Bent Words

August 24, 2020


That’s the sound a 2 liter bottle of soda makes when opened behind the closed door of a bedroom, behind the closed basement door and down the stairs at 8:32am on a Friday.

I can’t hear myself think normally and yet this I heard.

I scanned the hallway after stealth-mode tiptoeing up the steps. Called Big Kid to the kitchen.

“Bring it to me,” I said.

“What?” she asked, casually leaning against the hallway wall.

“You know what. Bring. It. TO. Me.” I responded.

Dramatic eye roll followed by a whispered “I don’t know how she heard that” to her little friend before returning the bottle to me.

Because I’m fucking batwoman. Blind as all get out and normally pretty hard of hearing but that Sprite was made for cocktails, damn it. COCKTAILS! I’m still on my second cup of coffee or I might have poured one actually. Now I have two test bottles of Sprite filled with water in their place.

- - - - -
“Are you really going to work?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

He just looked at me and blinked.

“YEAH,” I said a little louder. The first one he might have missed.

Windows down. Volume up. Get out the way of me and my big, dumb truck. Places to go, no one to see. Gonna get moving now. Just me and…. Me.

- - - - -

Doctor upped the meds again. I’m feeling less… anxious. As though I can finally look at a task and not completely crumble prior to attacking it. Long lists aren’t longer than they would normally appear. A thing or two I find joy in during the day.

Still I get hung up.

“Do you feel as though your family would be better off without you?”

It’s not so much yes or no as it is Opposite World. I don’t say this though. I don’t say it yet anyway as I didn’t have it articulated in my head before now so I think I’ll save it for (#notadoctor) Dr. Scott.

I offloaded some work schmerk from my plate and it scares me to think that they might think I can’t handle it all but the truth is that I couldn’t handle it all. You can’t dump 10 new titles onto my plate post-maternity leave and expect me pump out books when I have 13 children to watch after. BUT I can’t use the kiddos as an excuse anymore either so I’m going to either shove them all off to school or daycare come September whatever or I’m going to have to set them outside to graze on the lawn during the day. Simple as that. Here are your daily allocated oats – don’t eat them all in one hour – and a pooper scooper. NO MESSES. Lock the doors and DONE.

- - - - -

And if I hear it ONE MORE TIME, I am out of here.

This is I did state out loud (very out loud) yesterday.

I don’t know what it is you think I’m doing in between all the cooking, dishes, laundry, bathing, nursing and sweeping during the day but Quad seems to think I should be doing it. So, from now on, I don’t give a FUCK ALL what YOU need/want/desire. Don’t ever say “I have work to do” again. Don’t ever proclaim “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” I KNOW you have work to do and I can clearly SEE that you’re on the fucking phone but do you hear me pissing and moaning like that? NO. Leave me alone. I will do my stuff from here and you do your stuff from there. Leave all the food/dishes/cups/crumbs out – that is perfectly FINE – but don’t expect me to take care of it anymore. I don’t care. You don’t care for more than two weeks at a crack either so there you go. Step up or step off.

He just walked away. I hopped onto the treadmill to walk it off. Walk it off with purpose, I should add, because it isn’t a mere stroll but I also do not jog or run.

A bit later he came back to discuss it.

“I’m sorry but—“

“Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault. I’m not doing enough and you’re towing the line all day. I need to do more, be more, give more. And we need to talk more – like this – even when we’re mad – like you are – so we can work through things.”

I just stood there. Yeah, that’s what needs to happen.

“Okay then…” I replied.

I wasn’t expecting that.

Written at 5:47 p.m.