Even after the previous post of listing all the fun things I have to look forward to in the next few months, I find myself having PMS, or Poor Me Syndrome. Sure, it probably also coincides with the original meaning of the acronym PMS, but this week I’m especially feeling sorry for myself.
It’s just the evenings. Same old, same old. Pick up Skyler, come home, prepare dinner for her, and [lately] graze on every possible unhealthy thing in the house while simultaneously NOT preparing dinner to be ready when Ronnie finally gets home. Which then becomes an ordeal via text messaging between us:
Ronnie: What’s for din?
Me: I don’t know. We don’t have anything
Translation: I didn’t thaw any meat, nor did I attempt to throw anything else together
Ronnie: Fast food?
Ronnie: Neh. McDonald’s?
Me: If you get McDonald’s, forget me. I’ll eat something here.
Translation: I’ll continue to graze on every possible unhealthy thing here.
Don’t even ask why we don’t just call each other, but that is how it works.
Then I get depressed about not being a good enough wife to prepare us a healthy dinner, on top of feeling guilty for all the mindless mouth-stuffing I did for three hours straight, and thinking of all the other healthier and more productive things I could’ve done with that time. But then since it’s just Skyler and me till 7:30 or 8:30, there really isn’t that much I can get done that isn’t directly related to her. She’s been very adamant about quality time together lately. Why just now she was clawing at the computer chair and crying to me to let her up on my lap, while I ignored her just so I could finish this post. And now her feelings are hurt, and I feel even worse than I did already. It’s just that stupid downward spiral that I really can’t win. At least not one week out of every month.