Stress is teh suk. Between the anxiety I feel now every time my baby goes for a weekend with my ex, said daughter’s health issues and impending surgery, money, hormone/transition problems (see money), diabetes, neuropathy, slipped discs, scleroderma, weight, lack of health insurance, wearing the mantle of Marketing Chair for the school fundraiser, and needing to touch up my roots, I’m a wreck. Not that I can’t handle it, but I get flustered easily. Somehow, I cannot sleep at night anymore. I’m not taking advantage of this gift of wakefulness, the house is great one week, the next it could be mistaken for a ring straight out of Mr. Dante’s Inferno. I’m behind in just about everything, and artistically frustrated to boot.

Does this stuff ever stop? Can there be a week or two without BS? Why am I asking you? One woman I know was bitten on her cheek by her dog and the developed a matching hive on the other, just for balance, like her immune system is OCD or something. How can you beat that shit? Another friend’s daughter had two epileptic seizures in short succession, with resultant injuries requiring trips to the hospital and stitches. Really, what have I to complain about? Everyone, including the more affluent of my acquaintances, is broke. I’m not the only one with problems, and yet I am so narcissistic that I believe everyone needs to hear of my woes. Maybe you do, just to know that someone else has to deal with their shit. Let’s continue. American culture is a festering bog of ignorance and apathy drowned in sex and drugs. My drug: Cherry Coke Zero, or at least two of the bottles I had, showed elevated levels of radioactivity according to my Geiger counter. No, not like the artist, H.R. Giger, why would I have a machine that counted those, and why would Cherry Coke Zero contain H.R. Giger? You ask weird questions.

I’m reading more news, which just serves to make me weep, piss me off, and then I just go back to the weeping because I can’t do a thing about the crap I read about. I’m an idealist, dammit! I need to believe in the ability to make this world a better place, but I can’t. Not in the face of all this greed and oppression with not a thing to my name and a daughter to raise. And speaking of, how exactly can I foster her own idealism and keep a hope in her for a good life when she’s already faced all she has in her nearly 7 years. I want her to be tough, yet able to laugh. I want her to assert herself and be thoughtful and giving. I don’t want her to take any shit, and I want her to be able to back herself up in that, if need be. And I want her to be a little girl who dances in the dandelions and makes faerie houses and is a vampire queen and witch queen and is a hampire which is a vampire hamster (though not all at the same time, mom! duh). She wants to be a singer, artist, rock star (somehow separate from singer), mother, puppy, Goddess, vet, gymnast, photographer, jewelry designer, farmer, fed, and in my lap all in about 2 hours (see earlier bit about the ring of hell my house becomes). How do I facilitate all of those things together? Hell, I have a hard enough time making something that she’ll eat for dinner. Gah! Oh, and I am a terrible playmate. I never really got into that whole play thing, before, and I was hoping that I would be challenged to do that with her, but my inner fuddy-duddy is too powerful.

I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed and despite several people telling me that I’m doing a great job, I’m not so sure I won’t screw the whole thing up and Kat will become a teenage mom/serial killer/hedge fund broker/Kardashian wannabe/Appalachian snake handling Wall Mart shopper because all she will eat is mild Slim-Jims, macaroni and cheese, Taco Bell, chicken and potatoes in their various guises, burgers from the Trojan Horse, a nice salad with Italian dressing only, corn, ice cream, and eggs sunny side up with toast, but only the yolk she can sop up with the toast, at least on days she hasn’t decided to be vegan. Oh, and candy. If it falls outside of this list or has any flavour or if it comes in a soup, deal’s off. I used to hold my breath to show displeasure with parental authority until I passed out, she will not eat for a day to protest my choice of food options or lack of planning around her dietary choices.

How the fuck do you people with multiple kids and partners do it? Am I missing something? Well, in the mean time, as I’m figuring out how to do that supermom transformation, I’m going to tiptoe around the 12 science experiments, art projects, a huge freaking radial arm saw, and costume change piles to the staircase 8 feet away to attempt a toss and turn before the alarm signals another solar period of juggling badgers.

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