I was in a real funk earlier. I had been in a great mood and then suddenly it turned sour. My husband was left wondering what happened.

I don’t think losing my driver’s license helped. It was in my pocket last Friday and then it was gone. I had figured for awhile that it was just in the laundry but I finally concluded that no, no it was not. So today I made a call to the bowling alley and the bar to see if they had it. Nope. This wasn’t enough to put me in a sour mood but it was bugging me. This wouldn’t be the first time I replaced a license I had lost. Anyway, I finally found it. It was caught up inside the dryer. It finally pulled loose enough and peeked out at me so that I could see it and nab it.

I was kinda pissy about a trip to the grocery store. Pat gave me 13$ to buy 2 things of pop and 2 things of juice. He also wanted a candy bar if there was enough left over. Well a 24 pack of the pop was 8$. The juice was 2$ each. I needed at least some of both because I drink the juice when I take my pills and I drink the pop the rest of the time. And yes, I know water is free. Unless you factor in the thousands of dollars of water softening equipment to make it taste like water. I’ve tried the Brita system, still tastes like crap. So I had to put one of the things of juice back. I had the choice between the one I wanted and the flavor Thomas requested. Guess which one I chose. So we get to the check out and I had enough left for candy. So I pick out a candy bar for Pat and one for myself. Then I let Thomas pick out something. Then I find out I was over my budget by 14 cents. Yes. A dime and 4 freakin‘ pennies. Guess who’s candy bar got put back. *sigh* Stupid shit but when you have BPD it doesn’t take much.

I still wasn’t fully in a crappy mood but I was getting close.

Dinner time. Pat asked me to make the boys peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. He wanted to get some protein into Luke. So despite the fact I can’t stand peanut butter I made the sandwiches. I cut Luke’s in half and gave it to him. He pulled it part. Tore it apart. Finger painted with the peanut butter. Ate not a bite. So I gave him a cereal bar. He crumbled it apart and ate not a bite. Then Thomas informs me he isn’t thirsty and isn’t going to drink his milk. This. That. This, that was my breaking point. We don’t have much but we always manage to have food on the table for 3 meals a day. I don’t know how, but it always manages to happen. But food going to waste? Fuck that shit. We are lucky to have enough, we certainly don’t have enough to waste. And I knew. I KNEW that if Thomas’s glass went to waste it wouldn’t be half an hour before he was suddenly thirsty and not able to have anything because either we cut him off or he pisses the bed. I still don’t know if he ever drank that glass of milk. I turn red just thinking about it though.

So how did I pull myself out of the mood?

Well first, I isolated myself.

Then I found my license.

Then I watched Sweden verses Canada curling for the Olympic gold. I haven’t watch much of the Olympics. I can’t stand sports with a passion. However, I’m fascinated with curling. I don’t know why. But I can sit through an entire match. And this match was amazing. Two of the best teams in the world competing against one another, bound to be good. I was rooting for Canada, they lost in overtime. I don’t think overtime is the correct word. I bet Dave could comment with the proper terminology.

And here is where it’s hard to talk about. I’ve been debating this entire post if I was going to bring this to light. I kinda feel like I should. But this shit is embarrassing, yo.

See you all know, if you remember, that I’m schizotypal. Which basically means I have imaginary friends. They were gone for months after I started my Geodon. I mean fully and completely gone. But after I went off it, they came back. Fast as lightening. And now, even though I’m back on the Geodon, they are back. Full force. I’m not sure what this means. I do know, however they serve their purpose. With them I’m less alone. I feel loved. Cared about. Wanted. And tonight my imaginary best friend pulled me out of my funk.

And while I’m at it…

I have many reasons I want to stay with my husband. First and foremost I love him. I may suck at proving this, but I do love him. I don’t know why. Lord knows I hate him one forth of the time. But I still love him. Then comes the fact we have a family together and I don’t want to rip that family apart. Then there is the obvious that our combined incomes can barely support one house hold, how could we begin to support one each. And then there is this. If I wasn’t with Pat, the person I most want to be with is a figment of my imagination. Where does that leave me? And perhaps that is why I don’t love my husband as purely as I should. I’m in love with someone else. Someone who is no real threat to the relationship. I’m not going to leave my husband for my imagination. But someone else, none the less. And this person is, of course, perfect to me. Anyone else? Just pales in comparison. Which is why I was happy with them, him, gone. I was able to focus all my energy on my husband and no one else was in the way.

I think that’s enough confession for one night, don’t you?

Thomas won’t let me put this on his blog, so it’s going on mine.

Me: So you’re talking about presidents in school?
Thomas: Yeah
Me: Who is our president now?
Thomas: Obama
Me: Is he a good president or a bad president (curious if the teacher is biased and teaching it.)?
Thomas: *shrug* Never met him, never will.

Good answer kid.

I’m tired. It’s been a long day.

I was up at 8 to get Luke to a WIC appointment by 9. WIC is a program that gets milk, fruit and whole grains to pregnant women, and children under the age of 5, and formula to babies. You have to be low income to qualify and be categorized as being at risk. When I’m pregnant I’m considered at risk because of my depression and because I’m lactose intolerant (which is funny because half of what you get is milk). Luke, this time, was considered at risk because it’s hard to convince him to eat meat. I was kinda surprised he’s allowed to remain in the program because the kid is so fat, and they look at that. Kid is in the 90th percentile for weight and 40th percentile for height. That gives him a BMI of 95%. Kid is chunky, monkey. Anyway, we were out of there by 9:30 and back home by 10.

After that things were pretty relaxing until the end of Luke’s nap. At which point Pat asked Thomas where his hip hurt. That whole trip to the doctor can be find here.

From there we spent some time with my mother-in-law and brother-in-laws. It made sense because they are like 1 street over from the doctor. Which was fine. I generally enjoy their company. But by that point I was tired and just wanted to be home. We did take Zach to dinner at the Chinese buffet that’s in that part of town. We love it but hardly ever eat there because it’s in a different part of town from where we live. Then we came home.

And now I’m feeling drained of any energy. It was a long day for me with 2 draining appointments.

I’m just glad Thomas seems to be ok. We’ll know for sure tomorrow either way.

So Thomas’s blog… I swear I’m going to kill him over it. Every 10 minutes he’s wanting me to write in it for him. He dictates, I type. And the entries are never long. And they are basically ramble. It’s hard to type the ramblings of a 6 year old. I’m sure it will make for an interesting read. I’m also posting in there from my mind, in his voice, like I did when he was a baby and I kept a live journal for him. It makes for a good break in nonsense. He has to approve anything I type though.

He is trying so hard though. And it gives him a good platform to feel like he’s being heard. It was hard at first because he was wanting to talk to “the guys” through it or Rachel, his aunt. As if it was a personal message to them. I finally convinced him that he wasn’t talking to one person but everyone in the world, not that I think his viewership will expand past family and friends. But it got my point across. I think it finally clicked because after 20 minutes or so he came back to me and asked, “Even China?”. “Yes baby, even China”.

So we’ve made some progress. And I’m trying to be very supportive with it. Like I said, I think he needs to be heard. Anyway, I think you should go check it out. It’s cute. You can find it here.

Oh! It’s name. “Jesse is a Punk”. Ask him why that and he’ll tell you it’s just what came to him. I thought it over and figured, why not. Jesse is a center figure in his life. He’s Uncle Jesse. And Uncle Jesse is indeed a punk. I did give Jesse the option of vetoing it but all Jesse did was laugh. So I took that to mean Jesse didn’t care. It isn’t like anyone knows the Jesse in question. And those who do, well, they would agree with Thomas anyway.

Which reminds me. I need to write an entry on all the “fun” things Jesse has taught my darling son.

God I want to go to bed but I can’t yet. I’m working on the laundry I couldn’t do earlier because first Luke was napping down there and then second because we weren’t home.

I’m currently listen to music, which I haven’t done much in months. It sucks though because my headphones are crap and I either blast the music louder than I’m in the mood for or I listen to Pat and his friends on vent over the music. Sometimes I hate ventrillo. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could join into the conversation but Pat is still deciding how he wants to set mine up so that we can both have it at the same time. Grrrr.

I’m going to shut up now.

Oh look. I’m alone. In the living room. In the middle of the day. Listening to music. Lost in a fantasy. When suddenly out of no where appears Thomas wanting to play a game that he knows he needs to learn how to win and lose with grace. He’s back upstairs. I’m back to my music and fantasy. Out of no where I hear running water. Oh look. Dad’s in the kitchen being noisy. Oh look Thomas is back down here wanting to know why I called him a loser. I didn’t call him a loser. I told him he’s bad at losing. He runs away crying. Dad goes back upstairs. Back to my music and fantasy. Round 3. Ding. Ding. Ding.

Luke’s Playpen.

I bring you Jesse is a Punk. His name, his words, his idea.

I suppose I should start one for Luke Now.