Last night was awful. I couldn’t keep in The Rage. I was fuming at the world for milling around and making it so I can’t bring up my son as I would like to. I started off trying to blame Bev the Hairdresser and then I worked my way through everyone else I have ever met; but as it turns out this shoe doesn’t fit anyone but me. I suppose in that way I’m Cinderella. I do also feel that my world might turn into a pumpkin at midnight on Sunday.
Yes, last night was the crash. Oh, you should see me this morning! It feels like the first waves of what threatens to be a 2 day hangover, but I didn’t have a drop. I’ve got tortoise eyes that are crusted deep within a stretched throbbing forehead and it’s all from crying the night away.
I’m so sorry, so angry and so bitterly sad. I know it’s all relative and that I’ve got so much to be grateful for. I just feel like I’ve let myself and more importantly The Little Perfect One down. If it hadn’t been for the Seven Bitches then maybe things would be different... maybe...
I keep telling myself, ‘It’ll be alright.’ Millions of people do it and neither they nor their children are careering around biting people, mooning Father Christmas or chasing pensioners with hockey sticks. Then I try, ‘nothing is permanent, if it really doesn’t work we can change something.’ For now I’ll have to settle for maybe... maybe it will be alright...maybe...
Yet, I am now determined that I am not going to ruin my last day with The Little Perfect One.
No, today was actually a great day. So, maybe there are loads more to come...maybe...
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