elf in self

blech.

for some reason, i feel gross. it's a beautiful day out, the peanut allowed us to sleep and is napping again, i have time to write letters, etc, and instead i loaf around, feeling gross. i went for a walk a while ago to clear myself, but i still feel blechy.

motherhood: it's terrifying. i need to acknowledge that currently, part of me is locked in my head, rocking back and forth muttering "what have you done? what have you done?" it's scary for a perfectionist to try and stop a crying baby. sometimes you've tried everything and you just have to try it all again, hoping something will work that didn't work the first time around. sometimes she's hungry but doesn't realise that eating will solve her problem. sometimes i'm just tired of it, sometimes she wakes up every half an hour and it takes an hour to get her back to sleep.

sometimes i wish i was still childless, still at the bookstore in the city, still stressed out about what i'm going to do with my life, still feeling like an underachiever.

today, i don't like living in a small prairie town. i don't like the neighbours i haven't met who are roofing next door. i am weirded out at the house decorations (bright pink fences, cowboy cutouts on the outside walls, strange wooden carvings that look unintentionally like southpark characters), the small-town-big-penis cars and trucks (adorned with flaming skulls, etc) and the smell of thawing dog shit.

fortunately, in all this, i still love my daughter. and the queen! he is extra lovely these days, even though he's trying to sell a car that ran perfectly reasonably until he decided to sell it, and since then, has been haunting him with strange little fuck-ups. he even took it into a shop, as opposed to fixing it himself, and then it wouldn't run at all. ah, shop mechanics (my apologies to the three good ones out there).

i'm not even tired, so i can't go back to bed (tried that). i'm caught up on laundry and dishes, i don't feel like reading... blech.