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It’s a beautiful fucking day here today. Almost 70Β°, clear blue skies, breezy, windows are open, and I’m lying in bed because moving around is a feat beyond measure today. Serves me right.

Yesterday I cleaned and Friday I cleaned. Not just a little bit each day. I cleaned toilets and did laundry and vacuumed and made dinner. I made dinner 3 nights least week-more than just chicken and fries. I made my chicken tortilla soup, chili, and my pasta stuff. I cleaned the kitchen each night after dinner. I also went to the grocery and local butcher shop for meat. I cleaned the fridge out, took out the trash, changed sheets and was finally able to update my resume and send it off for a possible job. Friday night I got about 4 or so hours of sleep before I woke up and just lounged on the couch while the kids played in their beach and-on the carpet and coffee table, but who cares? They are kids so let them be kids. The girls played makeup while I started to clean up. I swept the kitchen twice, ran the dishwasher and did the non dishwasher friendly dishes, did more laundry and let the girls build a fort worth blankets outside. LET THEM BE KIDS! Plus, they were outside and our of my hair. I cleaned up all of the movies that puked from the entertainment center onto the floor, did MORE laundry, then had to wash and brush my dog as she rolled in poo yesterday. I cleaned the pig cage and have him his bath and trimmed his nails and cleaned the bathroom from all of the May fur after her bath. Maybe I was riding that hypo high? Or maybe I was actually baseline for a few days? Idk.

All I know is that today, I just want to sleep. Recoup and recover from the bustling of domesticing (pronounced doe-meh-stick-ing).

Because here’s what McMuggles and mundanes and normies don’t get: all the shit I did may not seem like alot, but to me? It was like cleaning 3 houses and doing a weeks worth of laundry for the Duggar Family. That’s what it FEELS like when I crash, or splat as Morgue so aptly puts it. So not only is my body physically exhausted to the daily routines of most, my brain is frazzled and is zapping me because the connections are fuckered up.

See, when we have normie “good days” and we are all productive and shit, we feel empowered, like we can take on the world and feel like we are coming around the bend with our six white horses pulling that wagon easily. But when the cell of reality is pulled down? Those wow houses turn into 16 Pegasus that yank us and our wagon up off of the ground like we address feathers, and we are among for the ride. Wherever they take us, we have no say so. We have zero control-even ON our meds! We can mitigate the damages as much as we can with all of our safety nets in place, but there are times when it gives zero fucks and you are strapped in and can’t get off the ride to gather your thoughts. Sucks, right? You bet it fucking does.

I’m tired and I’m allowing myself some rest today. I’m still managing to motivate every now and then to FINISH THIS FUCKING LAUNDRY, and to check on my kids to make sure they haven’t starved to death or lodged onto some server where they can potentially become an evil villain, or worse a Trump supporter. (Not a political thing so don’t start shit here about it) They are still alive and have eaten and have bathed so I think today is a win on the Mom Front.

Florida and I have talked about things so I need to conserve my precious (my preeeeeeccccccious, Blah and E) brain cells that are left so that I can start attacking the shit I need to for this next week. Ugh, seriously the thought makes my brain hurt and my eyes squint shut from the pain.

Oh, and to top of this great week.. I’m having right side pain again, so I fear the cyst on my right ovary has come back with a vengeance. The pain had doubled in severity in days, but my OBGYN is booked our until April now, so I’m sick waiting until at least the 21st of March to see him. The nurses are so awesome though that they will keep a look out for anything that pops up before then. And if it gets worse to the point I’m in the fetal position and varmitting, get me to the hospital cuz it ain’t good. Yet another thing to worry about.

Can someone please tell the Bipolar Coaster carnie that I need to get off this fucking ride for a pee break? And maybe for a med or two…