Standing at the end of my bed I feel the temptation to jump on my angry wagon. On the cusp of indignant, I reach for my battered old script, the one which centres around the theme of unfairness.
I have only a spilt second to turn this around. Rants & tantrums don’t make for good sleep.
Heading for the shower, I catch myself in the mirror, I see it. I see it all. The pull toward self reproach tugs but knowing where that goes, I pull back.
A quick reflection of the facts and right there, any argument I may have been relying on is demolished.
What did I expect? To spend the past week in magic land and come out unscathed? Why do I repeatedly think my biology won’t notice shit in the tank and respond accordingly?
Seriously, some part of me checks out, leaving some kid part in charge of all she knows, the sweet shop. Then, when the holiday is over, returns and is shocked and disgusted to discover the kid had a party in her absence? C’mon, again? Really? What did you expect ‘this time’?
All those days ‘away’. In a row. Hello licence to fill!
Fortunately this evening, humor managed to win out. Most likely because there was a (return) trip to the gym to fall back on.
Another week of consistency and routine should rescue the situation, repair the damage. Repair the oul sweet shop to an ‘acceptable’ condition. Not the best in town, just so that nobody will notice it was wrecked, again.
Then what? Guess who’ll want to check out again soon…And leave the child alone, again..doing what she does to make herself happy, free, then sick and eventually, sad. Angry. Frustrated. Defeated. Wrong.
And you’ll end up repairing that shitty little shop again, and lamenting, again, about the changes you’ve always wanted to make to it but could never do because of the kid.
Here begins another trip on the merry-go-round.