I’m (not) worried

I don’t really feel like writing today. The weekend went really well and poorly.

Paul and I were really stressed out this past week.

Thankfully, Arabella’s fever was gone by Saturday morning. She wasn’t 100%, but was up for a 4 hour road trip to see my daughter Angel perform.

Alex wasn’t fairing as well. His bacterial colitis was acting up and he couldn’t get treatment until we brought in a specimen.

By Saturday morning, I was feeling pretty stressed. Still no sample. I decided to work out Saturday morning like usual.

Paul and I were not getting along the last few days. While I was working out he sent me a text. I think you are a great mother. What did that mean?? I took it as an attack. I responded back with something like SCREW YOU and found out that he really meant it later. Misunderstandings..

We took separate cars since we had a large crew going out to the show…a ten mile run…a long drive…no sample..

I picked up my mom on my way.

It was my dad’s birthday. He turned 70. I rolled down my window and said happy birthday in a rushed murmur as I pulled away. A card and gift forgotten. Guilt. My dad didn’t go along.

The show was excellent! I am so proud…my daughter, the only freshman girl with a lead in her first opera. Magnifico!

I was expecting an introduction to the new guy she was talking about. Nothing. He is out of the picture. She told her ex to not bother coming to the show. Instead Mitch made the long drive to our house when we were gone to drop off Angel’s things. He dropped off 2 sweaters. Okay?!?

No fight between two guys out in front of the university cathedral like I was expecting.

After the show, a few of us went out for drinks. It was Darryl’s first time out since his wife passed away. After we got settled in, my son said that his stomach was hurting and that I was a terrible mother. We all raced back to the hotel right away.

I didn’t sleep well.

The next morning we visited over breakfast before the long drive back. I told everyone that I gave up worrying for Lent. Some snickered, others laughed. Don’t feel bad if you can’t do it. Maybe next year I will give up depression for Lent. Will that be easier??

Then we started the long drive back home. On the way, I killed a dog. Maybe I should clarify…when I was exiting a small town on a 2 lane highway…a small black lab puppy trailed by a purple leash ran out of nowhere. I slammed on the brakes. I had to maintain control of the car. There was woods on one side and a bog on the other. Stay on the road..Smack…I hit the puppy with the purple leash hard. Gone. He took off. I pulled over..Car and trucks whizzed by. No damage to the car. No sign of the dog..

My son got out and walked up and down the highway..no dog..we kept looking..we drove around. Where were the owners?? There was a truck parked by a trail. Alex walked over and talked to them. It was their puppy. He got away.. I was proud that my son took care of the situation..Where was the puppy?? Injured somewhere, dying in pain? I hit him pretty hard. Don’t worry..Why, why me?? Do you want me to stop worrying?? Wwwwhhhhhhyyyyy???

After about a half an hour, we finally left…the owners of the dog keep searching…I am shook up..I just killed a puppy…a baby dog…I can’t get the image out of my mind…My daughter texted me. How could you?? As if I didn’t feel shitty enough about it.

I get home later than expected…late to play practice…I just miss my big scene by seconds…I feel so angry and frustrated I want to scream out obscenities…but there are children around…I sit down and smile…and start the hardest act yet…pretending that everything is okay..

Can we just start the year over??

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s