-4, and probably sinking.
It's PMS time again.
I can't seem to shake the anxiety and the hopelessness. Almost fell apart crying last night over the boy. He is such a good child, such a smart child. And I know that he has NO FUTURE because, basically, he is uncoordinated (mostly socially) and annoying. It's just not right that someone who is so bright and so kind should be doomed before they even start because they are annoying.
But that's the way it is. I'm not even allowed to pull him out and start teaching him to make his own niche. That's a disservice. Oh hell no-- he has to be SUCCESSFUL. I have to "give" him everything so he can be an engineer (or the President) someday, or I have failed. PUSH him and PUSH him, NAG and NAG and NAG...
The only thing that is ever going to make him non-annoying is a HUGE amount of self-consciousness and a MASSIVE, UNCEASING effort, or sufficient sedation to render him a part of the furnishing.
Considering that he's not violent, not destructive, not in any way a danger to himself or others (at least, unless he's trying to steal a ball from you at soccer practice, in which case he's so darn clumsy that you can just about count on getting tripped), WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD I DO THAT????
Why, for that matter, would I want him to turn out like me-- afraid to speak, afraid to act, afraid to even be there in the first place, for fear of making a mistake?? Why would I want to teach my son to act like the girl who was so self-aware that she took 2 NoDoz every morning for two years in high school, not because I needed them to wake up, but because I was afraid of the possibility that I might fall asleep on the bus and drool, snore, or mumble in my sleep???
Why can't we just walk away, go live on a survival farm in Calhoun County?? We'd never be wealthy. Never be "successful." We'd be dirt-poor ne'er-do-wells. If we were happy, what would be wrong with that???
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"