Seriously I'm not manic, just ask anyone....(ok I'm giggling bc that is sort of a funny statement)
I've had a pretty good day. I got to go to school and make copies, go out for lunch, (addiction fed, literally) come home take a nap, wake up go to the Vortex(pretty painless). As I sat by Lillian's bed trying to coax her into believing that it really was bed time, I got to thinking(that's where the trouble began) I started picking myself apart. Wishing I was more. Does that make sense? I grew up in a very angry home....my mother was very strict and to be feared. Took me well in to adulthood to not be fearful...dumb I know. She never beat me or anything, just very short and angry. I'm sure we deserved some of it, but a lot of it was plain old overkill. My parents fought A LOT and we were poor. All of this, I guess, molded me into who I am. Why can't I be more patient, more calm, not so fretful. I constantly worry about whether I'm a good enough parent and if my girls will grow up to make good decisions and keep the faith I'm instilling in them. I'm afraid. Can I handle the future that looms ahead? So before I know it, I'm in tears and still tearful. Thus, the up and down.