I've been sick since Tuesday, and it's been a constant annoyance. And because of it I haven't slept properly since...Tuesday.
This morning Maddie was being a bundle of nerves, and I couldn't figure out why until I went upstairs and found out that she threw up. I tried to comfort her (throwing up terrifies her) and then she threw up some more. Sorry. That's gross. But it's been awful. She's OK now and back to psychotically watching the birds out the back window.
Plus Mike is working today, and is going to go into work again on Sunday. And worked late almost every day this week. I don't know what to think of it, because he's not some brain surgeon where people die in his absence. But it makes him feel better to make sure he's ahead of the game, and apparently this is his busy season. It's just really, really hard.
I've been cleaning all morning and I hate it, and I just burdened my poor mother with a self-pitying sob-fest. I'm a mess. I feel like nothing is going right. But, I know it's not true, and everything is going to fit into place, because, well it has to. I have so many things to be excited about and to work hard for, but right now, nothing fits. It feels like I'm wearing an too-small suit.
I've had my cry, and I've written a wallow-y blog post, so now it's time for me to buck up, buttercup and get my act together. I'm going to pull myself up by my bootstraps and whatever other cliche feel good-eries I can think of. I'm going to have some lunch, and finish cleaning and, and get in a good head space, and finally sit down and try to actually make some progress reading The Hunger Games.