It is one of those days where I’m having a difficult time writing. Sure, they happen from time-to-time. But today is different. I really don’t want to write. I’m tired. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m hungry. Even my eyes are dry. I’m what you might call a “shell of a man”.
Finally, I decided no matter how I feel, it is not fair to those who lovingly come here everyday to see how Ryan is doing. Besides, maybe it’ll get me out of my doldrums. Anyhow, I felt safe sharing my mood with you. For whatever reason, you accept my temper tantrums and rants just the same as my humor. Thanks for that, by the way.
Don’t try to read anything into how I’m feeling (mainly because I will tell you). Ryan is doing well. I have him pumping away on the passive hand peddler with classical music playing in the background. He had a comfortable night and all systems are go. It’s me. I’m having my very own pity party.
I keep my pity parties mostly private. Just myself in attendance. It’s not like I hang streamers, crank a sound-maker, and put out favors. But I’m not going to shun milking it if someone happens to walk in on it. Hell, even pity sex is not off the table. I’m certainly not above it (unless that works better). Now that I’ve given it some thought, a table might just help…
I know the cause. It is yesterday. The 7th. Always the effin’ 7th. The monthly anniversary of the beating. It brings me crashing down… hard. I’m usually over it by the next day — if you call extreme anger being over it, which I do. Yep, usually by today I’m just an exposed nerve. Here’s the difference this month, I’m still sad (actually, very sad) but also have all that anger piled on top of it. Seriously, when will I stop surprising myself? Sheesh.
I do feel a little better now. Thank you for allowing me to let off some steam. I appreciate that you tolerate me!