261 days…

Welcome to rock bottom.

I have been in floods of tears for the past few days.  I wondered this morning how I would cope at school all day.  I couldn’t stop the tears flowing from the moment I woke up (far too early again this morning).

Yet somehow I managed not to cry at school.

Our kids weren’t so lucky.

They are sad and confused as to why Mummy is crying all the freaking time at home.

I think it’s because I have finally lost all faith and hope that my life will be OK.

…and yet you decide to kick me when I’m down ….

…..There was no staff meeting today (still no news for work next year – P was just hot air it seems).  I decided that, since I had a few child-free hours (Mum picks up the kids on Wednesday afternoons) I’d go down to the little shop of horrors crystal / psychic / medium / art gallery/shop and ask for a reading. After all, I have absolutely no certainty in my life right now … you are gone, Dad’s cancer markers are elevated again, and work are being a bunch of busted arseholes and are now mucking me around after months of  “We want you on permanent next year”.

I argued with you in my head on the way there … I could hear you saying “we don’t do this mumbo-jumbo stuff”…. and I replied with “there’s a lot of things I never contemplated ever having to do until this year … and I’ve had to find out a lot more about funerals, burial, headstones, grief counselling, child bereavement,  superannuation and workcover than I ever thought I’d need to know.

so I drove down to that little shop after school today.

Not even the two other teachers from school or the lady from church sitting and having a coffee at the shop next door could deter me from my mission: I wanted a psychic reading to give me *something* to work towards.  Something to look forward to.  Some reason to keep going. Some ray of hope or heads-up on further heartache ahead.

But what did I see when I arrived at the shop door??

“Apologies – this shop is closed for the afternoon due to am emergency.  Please phone *&^% for a reading”.

….and you knew I wouldn’t phone that number when you organised this little tableau, didn’t you.

So – yeah.  Very Funny.  You got me.

Bastard.

The addition of the bumper sticker on the car in front of me just added insult to injury: “I feel much better now that I’ve lost all hope”.

Welcome to rock bottom – that’s where I am at.

 

A

Advertisements