Days Like This

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Today is one of those days when everyone would be better off if I wasn't the Mommy.

Or the wife, for that matter.

This is more than a bad hair day, although I do hate my hair, immensely. What is making this day bad is that people are talking to me, with those voices. The ones they were born with. And sometimes they look at me and, well, that just sets me off.

It's not that I don't have valid reasons for being irritable. It's that, like many people I live in a world where there is little release. Sometimes I feel like what is needed around here is a robot with no feelings other than that of pure joy for the opportunities to serve and comfort others.
What really sucks about this is that I think my husband feels the same way. So while I feel sorry for myself, I can feel guilty for his predicament too.

This the part where I am supposed to say that what we need is a vacation. But I think that what I really need is a in-home babysitter 2 days a week, a doctor's appointment and some damn sunlight.

My sister has long suffered from SAD and I have recently speculated that I do too. Today is a typical Jersey fall day. It is gloomy outside and the sky looks as if it might cry at any moment. Not rain - CRY. NJ looks depressed.

Last night MJ and I had a heart to heart about many things, one being our reasons for wanting to leave NJ. Top of the list for both of us is the cost of living. The other things that bother us, we realize are not major. It's a give and take wherever you live. Always something to bitch about. I look back at our time in California and I am well aware it was gloomy thru May and June as well as most of September. But I guess looking over and seeing the resorts, the Pacific Ocean and cheerful sailboats off the bay made it easier to deal with.

I've looked into getting the expensive sun therapy lamps. It's at least cheaper than flying to San Diego. But I'm afraid I can't blame my bad attitude all on the lack of sunlight in my life. I've got the funk and I believe MJ does too.

How do you rid your life of the bad funky funks?

And, for the love of God, please do not write me with the assumption I am suicidal and tell me you are worried about me. You can pass that drama on to someone else who deserves your sympathy and energy. I'm just a bitch because I hate my hair and skin and I need a babysitter. Or a a kind-hearted therapist.

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