tHe haPPy grOUch

tHe haPPy grOUch

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


So, the divorce diet is in full effect. 9 pounds in a week and a half.
Who needs the gym.
I guess that's what happens when your diet consists of strictly gingerale and coffee. The coffee to function, and the gingerale to (try to) appease the constant, relentless upset stomach and nausea.
I try to pick at food here and there, but it just doesn't work.
Oddly, the only time I've actually been able to eat was the brief time I spent with my husband the other night.
Go figure.

Today was essentially the cherry on top of the cake of my week, when the brakes went in the truck I'm borrowing from Mom. I need to find a vehicle. Again. I hate vehicle shopping (especially under such circumstances.. I'm sure that makes it that much more enjoyable).
I have just so much money to work with, and I am hesitant to spend much of it on a vehicle, thinking I could hold onto some to help get through until I find work. But then again, you get what you pay for.
Conundrum.

Unfortunately, I'm miserable to be around. This is evident by the amount of time Dawson is choosing to spend at his Dad's. He decided to go tonight. After we were arguing. Mostly about homework and his attitude.. but I'm sure my lack of tolerance and patience is contributing to our butting heads. He is angry that I am not myself.
I am trying to be. I really am. Most times I've been much better than this at masking everything and being the same old Mom.
This time it seems I am failing. That sucks. I need to figure out how to manage it.

Logan isn't home enough to deal with me, I guess. Between school and work. Although, her, Dawson, mom and Nana were all here for dinner last night. I wasn't much of a hostess.
Logan has a lot going on right now in her own life. She just started college. My first baby, in college. Sigh.
And this stupid ex-boyfriend of hers, who I thought was actually out of the picture, keeps trying to weasel his way back in again. Especially when he needs something. Like a ride to his court date. Sigh.
I hope she is a smart girl.
Lord knows her mother is not a great example of successful management of love and relationships.

It's about 7 o'clock.
No kids are here. I'm alone. It's eerily quiet.
What to do with myself?
Same thing I always do. Sit around. Walk the house aimlessly.
Cry. Watch Duck Dynasty to try not to.
Take a bunch of benadryl. Sleep.
Hopefully, dreamlessly.