So my soundtrack lately has been Fell On Black Days by Soundgarden. The rain, the ever lovin' rain and the grey, dark days have suited me to a black T-shirt lately. Sure don't mind the change.
I don't seem to get along very well with anyone. Gwendolyn pisses me off constantly and the F-Bomber, on the verge of 5, has been the worst-behaved I've ever seen him be.
My husband - husband who? is prickly as I am, though he doesn't admit it. I'll do it for him.
Are we ready, in our psyches, for back to school? Are we all hormonally morphing into prickly pears at once? Are we bored, nonsensical, buzz-killed and down? Are we all on the verge of breaking up? That's how it feels to me.
And yet in two days we are jetting to a 10-day momentous family trip and I have to say it: I'm kind of dreading this.
When marriages go bad there's always that last-ditch-shot-at-inducing-romance-vacation that never works and surely sounds the death knell and inks the pen that signs the divorce papers.
Is this our last-ditch attempt at being a family? My shoulders droop and my head goes cloudy when I daydream about our trudging off to the Magic Kingdom. I can hear the arguing already and I want to cry.
The four of us in one hotel room - shoot me! The hours on the airplane - what were we thinking?
But the trip was a gift - we weren't thinking. It was a generous gift from husband who's? dad. We were so excited for a while, and now here we all are. On the verge. Of something. Terrible? Wondrous? There's no turning back now. This adventure must run its course for good or evil.
I really don't want my four year old to break up with me. I don't want the rest of the family to, either. It's just that I am the Queen of Endings and the Goddess of Beginnings; it's the middle that I really suck at. I always have and right now, that's where we squarely sit, right on our lumpy, stubborn asses.
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