Warning, dear reader. If you’re the type who comes here for a daily dose of optimism, feel free to skip this post entirely. No, seriously, just move right along and we’ll pretend you were never here. Please, you won’t hurt my feelings; I promise. I won’t hold a grudge.
Nothing to see here but a whole big basket of ‘waaaaaah.’ I’m cranky. Like really cranky. And tired. If you decide to keep reading, I make no apologies. You were warned.
I’m tired of my friends losing their jobs.
I’m tired of keeping my possessions in a bag inside my desk drawer in case I lose mine.
I’m tired of politics, both presidential and personal – and the merging of the two.
I’m tired of the talking heads berating half the country at a time.
I’m tired of waking up in the middle of the night terrified of .. something.
I’m tired of watching the market bleed – and everyone wanting to talk about it – all the time.
I’m tired of the involuntary math in my head .. that the 40% of my net worth that has evaporated is the rough equivalent of five and a half years of my career essentially adding up to naught - all that time away from home – for free.
I’m tired of feeling different.
I’m tired of never, ever, ever being able to be on autopilot.
I’m tired of wishing that my love for my girls could be enough.
I’m tired of constantly thinking about the opportunity cost of everything I do. Time with one of my baby girls is time away from the other. Time for myself is time lost with everyone else.
I’m tired of explaining.
I’m tired of preparing.
I’m tired of fighting my weight.
I’m tired of trying to figure out when to use a semicolon.
I’m tired of feeling like I’ll never catch up.
I’m tired of my daughters asking, ‘Why is Mama crying?’ when I thought they didn’t know.
I’m tired of trying to look like I have it all together.
I’m tired of running my life like an ER triage.
I’m tired of feeling like I have to beat the clock.
I’m tired of knowing how short time really is.
I’m tired of needing a vacation I can’t afford to take.
I’m tired of short changing the kids at bedtime because I have nothing left to give them.
I’m tired of trying to convince people to do something – anything.
I’m tired of autism.
I’m tired of talking about it – all the friggin time.
I’m tired of making decisions.
I’m tired of thinking big.
I’m tired of the paperwork – and the details.
I’m tired of staring down a thirteen mile wall and wondering what the hell I was thinking.
I’m tired of knowing that I won’t give up.
I’m tired of being tired.
Or, maybe I just have PMS.