In a word: sucky.
After losing my opportunity at a night out to myself (or a night anywhere to myself), I came home, put away some laundry, cleaned up some dishes, fixed cereal for Scotty, fixed coffee for David, and finished up several other things just in time for Scotty to be hungry and need to nurse. While I was doing all those previous things - the things I do every day - I listened to the washing machine in the next room rock and rattle like it was going to come through the wall. It's off balance, so they say, and it used to bug the living daylights out of me, but tonight it was almost comforting. Maybe for the same reason that anytime I've been in the car by myself lately, I've cranked the radio up to an almost painful volume... or for the same reason I prefer to cry in the shower to anywhere else. Comfort in cover-ups. Chaotic noise camouflages the noise in my mind and tears aren't as obvious in the shower. It makes it all easier to deny.
Or maybe I like listening to the washing machine because I feel a common bond with it. After all, I'm a little off balance these days, too. It did what it was supposed to do, the same thing day in and day out, for a long time without the slightest problem, but then one day for no particular reason, it started screwing up. Most people who come into the house when it's running can tell something's wrong with it, but don't say anything out of politeness. A few people offer suggestions to fix the problem, telling me how simple it is to repair, but are at a loss when I tell them I've tried all their ideas. So it continues to run, continues to do what's expected of it, through the chaos and noise. Surely someone could take it apart and find the problem, but hey, as long as it's still doing what it's supposed to do, what difference does it make if something's a little off. It's still getting the job done, after all.
How do I always come back around to laundry?
I don't like being a washing machine. I certainly don't like being an off-balance washing machine, but for some reason I can't help it. I've learned the hard way many times over that things never turn out the way I expect they will, but I really, really wanted motherhood to turn out remotely like I expected. It feels so thankless and anonymous. I do so much and just feel used, used, used... like even my body and mind are at everybody's disposal but my own.
I love Scotty so much and don't begrudge the things he demands of me, but I'm so full of dark negativity and indifference toward everything else... things I love, people I love, activities I love. None of it seems worth the trouble anymore.
I've never been deep under water, but I would imagine that if you went deep enough you wouldn't be able to see the sun over the surface anymore. That's what I feel like... like incredible pressure of complete and suffocating darkness is on all sides and I'm struggling to find the light I know but can't even see anymore.
I'm tired of struggling.
