Weasel Of Doom

This has not been a good week. Dear God, why is the vast majority of my posts a variation on this theme? If there ever was a sign that I should get reunited with anti-depressants, this is it.

So yeah, this week. DemonChild has embraced the terrible twos with a passion. Perfect angel one minute, screaming demon-spawn the next. “No” is the only answer to everything. Followed by more screaming. If there is trouble to get into, rest assured, he is on it.

Squeeker is taking “needy” to new heights (or should that be “new lows”?). Basically, if he is not asleep, he wants to be held, played with, or otherwise entertained. And since both he and DemonChild do not go down until 9 pm or later, this leaves almost no time for me to do anything around the house.

The house is drowning in crap. I have four diaper containers (big 160 count ones) of paperwork to go through and file. Medical bills to pay. Carpets to vacuum. The kitchen floor, which I finally got around to washing last Saturday because Mel was kind enough to come and help us watch the kids, looks like it hasn’t ever been clean. DemonChild’s red shirt bled color all over the cute overalls that are not even ours, and I am not sure I will be able to get the pink stains out. I have not had time or energy to clean the bathrooms for a few weeks now. When BelovedSpouse is watching the kids and I should be catching up on housework, all I do instead is read or waste time on the computer, because I don’t want to deal with real life.

And talking about BelovedSpouse, I have no idea why he won’t just get a divorce, because if the situation was reversed, I would have been out of here a long time ago.

I look around, and all I see are reminders of what a failure I am personally and professionally. To be given so much, and to waste it all. Monday morning, I am calling our doctor and asking for some anti-depressants, because I hate what I have become.