How was today, Dear?

I guess if all this is going to be is some shit diary, then that is where I will go with it. Semi- private. Only the Government will read my angst and maybe some Martians if I do this sans tin-foil hat. So be it.

Today was shit. Yesterday was shit. I didn't sleep well. I have no enthusiasm and even less- um- something. Words?

My Mother's sister was schizophrenic. Back in the day- WAY back- when my Grandmother was fighting all by herself to keep my aunt from having shock treatments, and second only to actually having someone ill in the house with little resources, was the idea that the neighbors would know and perhaps gossip. I tell you this because I am more so than ever lately trying to gauge my own mental health. Sans tin-foil hat and actual doctors.

My closest sister ( in age and warmth) and I have always suspected we wouldn't escape the ghosts and illnesses that surely run in our family. My Mom was the most loving woman on the planet, but every once in a while she would lose her shit. Mostly towards my father. I thought of him as strong and mild mannered. I still do, he's my Daddy. I know that is how my daughters see their Dad, too, and rightly so. But I wasn't married to my Dad. I don't know what she privately put up with any more than my daughters can see why I ended my marriage to their Dad.

Where was I going with this, you ask? I dunno. Just ranting.
I am questioning where I stand now, I guess. How much more crap I am prepared to laugh in the face of. I was really really happy for a few years. Now I am not. I guess that is ultimately what this blog will be about- seeing concrete "proof" with dates and moods.

So for today, then, things are shit. I want to be happy again. I am turning into my Mom- making the face we used to call "the nose" and I think I may be grinding my teeth at night; something I haven't done since 2007.

The list of demands: to be changed/ amended/ lessened/ added to at MY random whim:
I want to not be taken for granted.
I want to be kissed when we part- for a day job or the night's sleep.

A partial list, obviously. I still love us both enough to not put the big nasty stuff here for the Government and the Martians.

If this has become a storage situation, man the fuck up and let's be done. We both deserve better than this. I do, anyway. The jury is still out on you.

April 7 2016

Yeah, yeah, I see it's been a year. No promises.

I am so ashamed. I wasted this day.

I might die this year. Could happen. And what the hell did I do today? I wasted it. With tears. With anger and pain and ugly thoughts about ugly things. I wasted it on self pity. On pity for you. Not you, dear reader. On him. What a waste of a day.

I am not totally lost in my nutsness. I know I won't cure cancer or finish writing the great American novel ( or start it officially for that matter), or tackle the mess of limbs and vines and broken fence pieces that have plagued us and our dear back neighbor Mrs. Jacobs for the past couple of summers. I know that even on a good day, on my goodest, betterest, best day, I wouldn't have gotten any of that done, I am not that nuts, that lost in my nutsness. I should have done something, though, beyond the crying.