There’s a Hole in the Bucket

To those of you who are real people, I apologize for the earworm.
To those who are about to leave me spam-bot comments, Fak Off.

Today was an incredibly draining day.  It started out simply with waking up knowing that I’d had weird dreams – the kind that you don’t remember, you just have that vague weirdness floating around your head and causing you to wonder if there were gymnasts and Ed Norton and No. 2 pencils involved – and no, I wasn’t drinking the night before – or now for that matter.

By 6:30 a.m., things had taken a turn for the worse.  Yeah, you heard me, by 6:30 a.m.  That’s a helluva curve, don’t you think?  From vague weirdness to WTF?!? in under 20 minutes.  That could be a record for me.

Unfortunately, it just kept going downhill from there.  The ridiculousness was that under no circumstances did today have to end up being like this.  A host of things could have happened differently, and today would have been just fine.  Everything that happened today?  Could have happened tomorrow and been pretty much fine (albeit not at 6:30 a.m. – nothing that happens at that hour is fine.  Ever.).  But today, the way it went, there decidedly a hole in the bucket with no water left for the flowers by noon.

Lately, the minute I seem to have my feet on the floor and I start to feel a notion of balance, I suddenly find myself ass over elbows with the rug flying away from me.  It is unsettling at best, maddening (quite possibly literally?) at worst.  I’m not crazy.  I’m not mean.  I don’t deserve it.  I’m a good person.  I’m a good friend.  I’m loyal and honest.  I’m caring, intelligent, compassionate, and respectful.  I’m trying … trying to get through every hour, every day, every night; trying to be a good mother; trying to be true to myself; trying to be understanding of all the things I can’t understand.  I’m getting my ass kicked.  It’s getting old.

I really, really just want to take my bucket and go home.

But tomorrow morning, I will get up and try again.

About dyskinesia

Woman, mother, human being, grammarian. I have Attention Deficit Disorder. My child has Asperger syndrome. Philosophy, laughter, therapy, living. Life after divorce.
This entry was posted in Damn It, The Ugly Truth, Therapy and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to There’s a Hole in the Bucket

  1. Tiffany says:

    Tomorrow will be better. Even if it isn’t, shit’s gotta get better SOMETIME, right? Hugs to you, sister of my heart.

    (“Theeeen fix it, dear Henry dear Henry dear Henry…”)

  2. Oregon Sunshine says:

    There are days I wake up and would rather sit on the bottom of a bottle of wine (Patron on really horrid days) but I don’t. And it always gets better. Eventually. Grab hold of those boot straps and don’t let go of ’em and you’ll get a chance to right yourself, or be ready to.

    And if you do decide to sit on the bottom of a bottle of wine after a long day like that, I highly doubt anyone here will judge you. Certainly not me!


  3. Bad Pants says:

    I read this early this morning, and wanted to come up with some reassuring comment…but me and my bucket already had a date and I was late. Clearly our buckets have been sharing notes.

    Earlier you left a comment that brightened my day, so here’s me showing up to say “the sun’ll come out tomorrow”…or something.

    I don’t have a map to get from here to better; but I promise that if I find one, I’ll send you a copy.

  4. iamheatherjo says:

    You could bring your bucket over here and I’ll take you to the beach with my bucket and we’ll make sand castles. You know, before it snows. You can come here with your bucket when it snows too and I guess we’ll just have to make igloos.

    Thinking about you lots.

  5. dyskinesia says:

    Forgive the mass reply, but thank you all. I know that there is a Better out there waiting for me. I know that it is most likely through many bottles of wine, a goodly portion of frozen margaritas (make mine peach or raspberry, please), many hours on various exercise machines of torture, and a lot of time spent cuddling with my dog. I know most of all though that I will cherish the moments of friendship that bless my path, for however long they are there. You have all touched my heart, more than once, more often than not, and whether I have told you. Thank you.

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