This is one of those blog posts where I’ve had to do a lot of introspection and still don’t have the answer, so it might seem like a bit of a ramble. Please bear with me.
I have been in the most disgusting state of anxiety this week. I’m talking taking a ½ Rivotril in the morning just to get me through the day, something I have always refused to do. I recently changed anti-depressants (from Zoloft to Molipaxin) and they keep me on the saner range of slightly nuts. Etienne now even gets lucky on occasion.
But this week has been BAD. Can’t focus, vacillating between teary and bitchy, want to shove every type of food imaginable in my mouth as comfort, you can probably guess how it goes. I started making a mental (snort) checklist of things that could possibly leave me in this state.
It looks a little like this:
There is a lot going on at work, but nothing insurmountable and there is light at the end of the tunnel, so it’s not that exclusively.
Christmas. I need to get my ass into gear as I’m making Christmas
gifts for most people this year and I need to get organized as time is running out. I’m also busy crocheting things people ordered that are thankfully almost finished. But it must get finished and out of the way
I want to make little brown packets with sweets instead of an Advent Calendar. The idea is to have a little bag per child per day on the Christmas Tree that the kids can take off and replace with an ornament. That way they start decorating the tree from 1 December. But I need to
get that done.
There’s too much going on between now and Christmas. I’m craving peace and quiet and it’s not even December yet. That would be the peace and quiet I won’t be getting any of anyway.
I’m only able to take a few days leave after Christmas because of work, which leave Etienne to take care of the kids all by himself for the entire week before. Can you say BAD MOTHER?
We are also going away with the people in Etienne’s office this weekend. They are lovely, lovely people but for some reason the thought is freaking me out no end. It has a lot to do with the “please bring swimming costume” sentence. I fervently pray for rain. I already feel judged as “The Fat Wife” before we have even left Cape Town. How pathetic is that?
Am I being a complete drama queen? (And you know how much I friggin hate drama!)