Here’s the thing about the mass, mound, bunch, lot, assemblage, mess, pack, and swarm of crazy ruling my life. It’s too much. It’s just too much. Somehow I haven’t yet collapsed. My mom and I have a no break-downs pact. Here’s what I have going:
1) My FiestyPants and BoyBlue are being transitioned home to their mom. Sure, it’s good for them. For me, its devastating in a way where I just put it in a box in my mind and heart. I’ll just have to deal with it later. When it hurts less.
2) My first book, These Lying Eyes, is at the editor. Who has told me that it will take more time because it’s a complicated novel. That’s ambiguous isn’t it? Does that mean it’s so full of shitty mcshit pants holes that I might as well just give up now? Or does it mean that it has good potential? Does it mean that I have so much work to do I might as well just check all my plans, get that master’s degree, and resign myself to banking?
3) TinyPants, the sweet little peanut and my newest foster child, is in withdrawals. Which have caused some issues with her bum. Plus she’s tiny. And doesn’t sleep through the night. So, I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a month. My bones hurt; I’m so tired.
4) My parents are moving to Kansas. KANSAS. 😦
*I’ll move too. Eventually. Once the stuff with the foster kids is all worked out. I’m not going to force them into new homes. And should their family situations not resolve, I’ll happily adopt any of them. Or all of them. Despite the crazy. I’m in love people. Love isn’t rational. They’re wonderful. Being a foster parent sucks the big one, but foster kids are amazing.
5.) I still have a full time job.
6.) And a new book in the works.
Honestly, its so much crazy that there’s this unexpected benefit. I just don’t have the time to dwell on any of it. Sure, my eye has started twitching, and I barely survive. Even then only with the help of my parents, but that being the case…I’m not getting the full flavor of any of it.
For that I am grateful.
Cupcakes and rainbows grateful. My natural tendency is to dwell on, worry over, and gnaw on whatever is making me crazy. I’d toss and turn at night. Get nauseous. Have to take walks randomly. Cry. Tell everyone, everything. Now, I just think about the next thing on the list and naps. I think about naps a lot.
Back when I could do things like leave my house or bake, I’d totally have made these babies. In my former life, before kids, I loved to bake.
There’s so much worry I can’t even touch it all. Where am I going to work when I move? Where will I live? How am I going to get myself there? What will I do for childcare after my mom moves? How am I going to make it through the months of single parenthood without my support system? How will I survive being alone in the PNW? (*One of my brother’s lives here. With 4 kids, a full time job, and working on his master’s degree, he might as well live on the moon.)
But the moral of this story is, when you’re on the crazy train, go ahead and load it up. Overload it. Because, if you ever get off of that that crazy train to crazy town where your crazy friends tiptoe through the tulips, you’ll have moved through so much crazy that you’ll be basically the She-ra of dealing with the shit life throws your way.
~Amanda
ps I’m totally finishing These Lying Eyes. I’ll plow through my edits, and my book will be the better for the assistance of my editor. Damn it.
Amanda A. Allen 