Most days, it just seems like theres just too much.  I look at the kitchen, the laundry, the house - and I just, cant cope.  Somewhere in my mind I curl into a little ball and cry.  Its not that I cant do it.  Its not that I dont want to do it.  Im both capable and willing... its just that its too much.  The sight of it, never ending, ever defeating.
It just seems impossible. 

And yet, Im not one to just curl in a ball and sit.  Physically, I cant do it.  My hips and legs start to hurt and I have to move, do things.  And I despise mess, untidyness.  It has to be fixed, cleaned, neatened up.  Shiny.  

But the days all start the same, with me sitting here, cowering in some kind of torpor, not crying, but wishing I could.

The pain doesnt help.  And on the rare days there is no pain, the fear of it is even worse.  Knowing its lurking there, somewhere in my head.  Its intolerable, never knowing where its going to surface.  Will it be the fist pressing on the back bottom of my skull?  Will it be the sharp jab above my right eye, or the drill pressing into the side of my left eye?   The unbearable weight on the top of my head is always the last to come, right after the one behind my right jaw.  I dont fear those two - they are my signal, Hamlet like - "Get thee to a hospital".

SO I look around me each day, and go through the motions, quietly noting every slight throb (this morning, its the left temple)  Every vision issue that might be related. (today its the right eye, and the blind spot is to the right of center)  I dont cry, because it scares the kids, and I put off doing the housework untill I cant stand it anymore.

But then there are days, like today, that I have to go grocery shopping too.   It means dealing with other people.  People who dont understand that Im in pain, that Im scared. People who look at me and judge me, even if its just for a split second.  The kids make it worse - they attract the attention that I could avoid otherwise.

I cant keep up the facade I used to - the one that made me stand out just enough to fade into the background so very quickly.  Like a piece of furniture just slightly out of place.  Too old and too tired to fade off the radar.  It was Clayton who reminded me - they dont expect the rude, the curtness, from someone who just looks like another soccer mom.  I have to dress the part, look the part, then Im just a bitch and they expect it.

Of course, in reality, Im no more a bitch then they are.  In fact - the real of it is, that Im much less then they are.  Theres no intent behind it, its just the way the tone carries, the speech patterns that I have no control over.  Its just the truth.

Except when Im lying of course.  I still do that.  Its like a flip switch in my brain that I have absolutely no control over.  My mouth just starts running and I seem to phase out around it.  Exaggerating and enhancing the reality around me to epic proportions.  It just - happens.  I dont mean anything by it, and the truth is always there.  Just not always where you expect it.  Yes, Eva cut her hair, yes, I had to hack of 6 inches or more to even it out, - but I didnt cry.  I said I did, but I didnt.  I *wanted* to... it did hurt me to do it.  But I just - couldnt.
I just say that I did, because thats whats supposed to happen.  Thats the normal - and Im not it.

I used to lie, I think, to get the attention, for people to find me interesting, no it just happens when I want to appear normal.
Its easier then telling the truth and letting them see just how strange I am.

Its the housecleaning though, that defeats me every single day.
Dishes, laundry, bathrooms, bedrooms, floors, kitty litter.
It doesnt sound like much... Most days, Im pretty sure that it *isnt* much.  But it always looks like so much, and weighs on me.  it scares me. Theres just too much.  Just wiping down the counters, is too much.  Putting away the laundry is impossible.  Days like today, even reading a book, doing embroidery - too much...

Its not depression.  It really isnt.  At this point, the only reason why I take anti-depressents is because if I try to stop, Ill get sick - even dropping the dosage makes me shake and nauseous.  I end  up laying on the couch, even more miserable then I am when the head hurts, and if the head starts to hurt with it, its a recipe for true disaster.

Its so hard to understand, to explain.  I suppose some of it is that I simply dont *like* the condo.  No matter how much we do to make it ours, it just - doesnt fit our personality.  *laughs* Maybe Im just at war with our house.  I *liked* cleaning the apartment.  In fact, I loved that old apartment - even though *it* had a serious negative spiritual issue, and this place has none. 

Either way, Im kinda screwed.  Im tired, and hurting, and feel like nothing I do is *enough*.  Theres too much, every day, and I just want to - well, honestly, I dont know *what* I want... well no, thats not true either.  I want to see it how I see it in my head.  Clean and shiny.  pretty. 

Between the kids and the cats - pretty is *very* out of reach.  Ive had so many candle holders and pretties break since getting the kittens I dont even bother trying anymore.  I dont want any more of my favorites to get broken.

Yes, thats probably the real issue here.  It doesnt matter how much I clean, or how hard I work.  It just - isnt what I want. 
Maybe I should just get rid of the cats.  At least the kids can be taught. 
And we all know Im not getting rid of Gandalf, soooooooo
At least Ive identified the problem, or part of it...

Now,to figure out if Im going shopping, or doing housework first.
blech.