Things are bad here. Again. And I said I wouldn't write about the relationship stuff, so I won't, but that doesn't mean that I have to lock myself into a closet and write things into a cloth-bound diary. I think I'm still allowed to write about the big picture, to say: my life, it sucks. Report cards are due in less than a week. I seem to have lost a set of tests somewhere. One of my good friends has been talking about suicide every day for weeks. Blake threw up last night around 3:30, and I was up with him until he left for school. And the Boy is really unhappy right now. Unhappy with me. Unhappy with us.
So we're right down to triage this week. Either we're doing basic stuff like food and clothing, or I'm trying to convince the Boy to give me another chance, or I'm taking care of Blake. I can mark or I can try to keep my marriage alive; I can't do both. This is why I'm home today. I haven't been sleeping and I need to mark without the pressure of classes and keeping up appearances for other people.
I would be remiss if I didn't say that there are bright spots. Blake, for instance, doesn't seem to be the worse for his night-time episode. I can whack a big assignment off my to-do list today, as soon as I get off the self-pity train. My friend is still fighting, still living. I'm wearing home-made socks. And the biggest thing is that I still have hope that things can get better. Not that you know what those things are, but trust me: they can get better. I can get better.
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Don't make me send out the Blake. He doesn't listen to *anyone.*