Wish in One Hand...Sh*t in the Other

I can't get motivated to finish packing...
I'm like an addict telling myself "Tomorrow, tomorrow it'll be different." Then of course it happens all over again upon awakening.

"I'll pack some after I've had my coffee", turns into "'ll pack some after I run", which is inevitably followed by, "I'll pack more after breakfast, (lunch, and dinner)

Part of the problem is I don't want to leave here, but then you all know this already. It's painful and scary, thinking about leaving someplace that's been so good for both The Mer and I...for something unknown...and unremodeled, is that a word?

So packing is saying I'm OK with all this, which I am NOT  by any means. But for the boy I am...EXCITED (yeah right) and THRILLED (sure) to be going on another fucking adventure...please let this be the last for a while sweet Goddess of everything maternal! (which is the only holy for me now)

I keep asking myself, how I'll ever love something covered in dark wood paneling...it's like a red-headed step child, can I truly LOVE it, deep in my soul, enough to make it MINE?

So here I've sat, for the last week. Not really packing anything more, just in a packing stupor if you will...alone, save for The Mer and the gaggle of children we'll leave behind. All asking the same question of me, with probing eyes like aliens unsure of my intentions..."WHY are we leaving, and WHEN will it be happening, and WHO will be living in YOUR HOUSE?

I am the bad guy, regardless of the grown-up circumstances involving things like money, space-time-continuum's and taxes...it's my fault. I'm breaking up the pack and I must face the consequences.

When did I slip from my little girl skin, into this too-big-for-me-skin of mother? We moved so often when I was a kid, I never learned to have friends, be a friend. Just as I'd make friends with the neighborhood kids...you know the rest. Now here I am doing to The Mer what was done to me.

I wish I could have bought this house for him.
I wish I didn't have to move him into a Cinder-ella house.
I wish I could get paid to fucking write.
I wish I could write without 'fucking'.
I wish I could buy The Mer a Wii...to make up for, of course...being a bad mudda in too-big-for-her-skin.

Comments

[Stef]

moving is a bitch, I know. I've done it often enough myself (only after I became an adult, though). Even knowing I have to move is not a big motivator for me. And, I have to agree with Jonathan... you are so much more than you give yourself credit for. Hang in there! It gets better. :)

[Jonathan]

I think you're a far better Mom than you give yourself credit for.

As for the house, when it comes down to it, the house doesn't mean anything. What matters is that you try, and you keep getting back up when you are knocked down - and so far you've done that more (and faster) than anybody else I know.