I need a good mope. I try not to get sucked into the very alluring pity party I enjoy throwing for myself when I’m feeling upset, but right now I’m at the party with balloons. Because there is something to a good mope. A satisfying pout. There’s a reason our kids do it. Sometimes, when you’re really disappointed and there’s nothing to be done, the only thing one can do is sit in the mishmash of hurt feelings and upset.
My kiddo is sick with a bad virus. He’s had so many of these in his short two years, I’m an old pro. This is his thing. It’s very on-brand. High fever, vomiting, just miserable. My poor baby. When this happens, the whole routine, household, life in general, just comes to a stop until he’s healthy.
No one is in control of their illnesses, there’s nothing and no one at fault. This is parenting. It’s what we sign up for.
But damnit if I don’t feel a little resentful this time. My husband and I had tickets to see John Mulaney tonight (hilarious comedian, who if you don’t know about you should go watch his stand-up specials on Netflix now). I got these tickets four months ago. We had excellent seats. And my kid is so sick there’s no way we could leave him with a sitter and go. In the grand scheme of things, this is no big deal. And it’s totally the right call not to go. And I’m also disappointed beyond measure.
Disappointed not to see a great comedian, sure. But mostly, that I don’t get a date night with my husband who has been working so hard I don’t see much of him these days. Disappointed I don’t get to take a night off and transfer my duties of constant care to someone else for a few hours. Disappointed I don’t get to get dressed up. Disappointed that I have to keep giving and caring and tending and nurturing when I’m beyond tapped. I do not blame my kid for getting sick, but I’m disappointed in the timing nonetheless.
This exhaustion has been coming on for awhile now, long before my kid got sick with a fleeting virus. It’s not really about all that. Is it ever?
These past few weeks I’ve been feeling this deep tumult in my gut that won’t let up. No voice telling me what to do, nothing so clear as that. Just a feeling that something is amiss. Something isn’t working anymore. I’m frustrated and tired. So very tired. Tired in a way that sleep isn’t fixing. Tired in a way that merits a mope.
I’m tired of processing human suffering and unregulated evil at a pace that my body, mind, and spirit cannot keep up with.
I’m tired of losing beloved icons and musicians whose music has helped me through some of the very darkest times in my life.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m hitting my head against a wall when I’m writing. That the words aren’t tumbling out as easily right now. That I have to make a concerted and deliberate effort to string any words together that remotely make sense.
I’m tired of the selfishness, blindness and tyranny of evil men.
I’m tired of being stalled.
I’m tired of feeling like a failure whose only asset is the energy given over to anyone else.
I’m tired of feeling so alone.
I’m tired of talking about myself, and thinking about myself, and yet feel as though I never have time to actually spend with myself.
I’m just so tired.
So this is me moping. Because I had to cancel my plans, because our world seems to be on the brink of ruin, because I am wrecked with worry every time my kid gets sick, and because I don’t know what else to do about it all. Not right now, anyway.
Until I figure out how to channel this all into action, I just have to sit in my mishmash of feelings and carry faith that at some point, I will.