It’s one of those days.
You know, the one where you’re tucked up on the couch, wrapped in your comfy bath robe while the house is falling to pieces around you. The laundry is piling up, the hairballs in the corners are growing sentience, and my kid keep putting random shit from the floor into his mouth. It’s disgusting. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to move.
It’s also cold outside and I’m being lazy as fuck.
Is this what depression feels like? If it is, it fucking sucks. I don’t really think I’m depressed, but there are definitely days when I’m too apathetic to even care about what’s going on in the house. Those are usually the days my husband and I fight because I can’t even muster up the gumption to throw a load of laundry on.
It’s not often that I actually feel it so deeply that I give in and don’t do anything. I mean, the least I can do is throw in a load of laundry. Put on the dishwasher. Sweep. Ugh.
I want to be a runner. A barefoot runner. I want to be a hiker. I want to be an avid camper. There is nothing stopping me but my own laziness. Where has my willpower gone?
For right now, I can comfortably blame it on PMS and lack of a good night sleep. I haven’t gone to bed before 2am for the last week and it’s starting to take it’s toll on my body and my emotions. After I bleed and get a couple good night’s sleep, I’ll definitely have to come up with another, better excuse for why I won’t start running. (It’s too cold.)
My son is watching Dora right now and all I want to do is head-butt the television because that would be more fun than listening to Dora whine about what Benny’s lost. Her voice is piercing the nerves in my brain and if it doesn’t stop, my brain will melt out of my nose.
I need a nap.
I need a day at the spa.
These are the first-world problems of a lazy stay-at-home-mom.