I keep having bad days. I looked at the calendar, and I have been sick in some way shape or form for the last 65 days. And I keep thinking, well tomorrow has to be better. But tomorrow keeps being worse. Obviously, it started with the barfing. And that was truly terrible, I admit. But when I got a bladder infection, plain ol' barfing didn't seem so bad.
It took me 3 days of miscommunication with the doctor's office just to get my prescription. When I did get my pills, surprise! Taking them makes me barf.
On top of that, I came down with some sort of horrible cold and sore throat that refuses to leave. It hurts so much to swallow. It hurts so much more to barf. Coughing aggravates my trigger-happy gag reflex even more.
Then, yesterday, I woke up with my right eye crusted shut. And now I have pink eye too.
I am so tired of being sick. The house is a constant mess that we can't keep up with. Laundry gets done not because the hampers overflow but because it's the last possible day we could go through before Oliver is out of pants or Colin needs pajamas or Jared doesn't have any socks.
Our grocery bills for the last few months have been sky high. Without me cooking our meals, we've been relying on packaged and pre-made foods. I forgot how expensive (and unsatisfying) those things are. And despite all of the empty calories and junk that I've been consuming, I've still managed to lose 7 pounds.
Jared, try as he might, can't pick up my extra slack. I am the first person to commend him for his honest and hard efforts, but to be honest, he's not a house keeper. Jobs that would take me twenty minutes take him an hour. He is lost in the kitchen. He attacks laundry and cleaning jobs with an intense but scattered focus that leaves washer cycles half-finished. Certain areas of the house will be cleaned only to ignore the larger, more pressing disasters elsewhere.
And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this to complain about Jared, I'm so grateful that he is trying his best. Rather, I need to wallow in how far gone I am. I feel guilty that the house is this way and I feel guilty that I do next to nothing with/for the kids. I wish I could get up and make dinner and do laundry like I used to. Some days I even try, but by noon I am wiped out and more miserable and frustrated than before.
Today I managed, just barely, to make a mediocre dinner and put away a load of laundry. And I am exhausted.
If I keep going to bed thinking tomorrow will be better it has to be true sometime, right?