This, too, is part of the process

A week and a half to go at work, and I can NOT climb out of this pit of despair! god, what a drama queen I sound like – but between the lack of sleep, the extra add-ons they keep giving me at work, the really terrible class I’m taking, and my special little girl morphing into Devil Child, I’m done. Put a fork in me.

I’ve always had vivid, detailed, intense dreams. Thank you, fucked up childhood! When stressed, my dreams are like ghosts rising out of their graves. All of the characters from my past come pay me a visit. I really could do without some of them. Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night and got out of bed and walked around a little, restless. The moon is at half full right now and cast light through the windows. I was in one of those places where I really wanted to have a good cry, but I held back because:
I’m not a pretty crier. I get all puffy and blotchy.
It freaks out M and that isn’t fair to her
Then I’d really not get any sleep
Living with my parents. Weird enough already, thanks.

Yes, I KNOW it is almost over. I KNOW this isn’t that big of a deal. But y’know what? Sometimes I feel like I’ve been enduring things my whole life. I know that what I need is to get away from this house, this town, and this job, and let the dust settle, regroup, and spend some time not crazed with whatIhavetodonext, I know that.
But if I have another night like last night, it’s really going to suck.

M was too little to remember Colorado, and only knows what she’s been told. She knows she was born there, she has been there for visits, but – and this is completely normal – she is vacillating between being excited about the move and being freaked out about it. One of the labs I used to have would know immediately if I were going anywhere for any length of time. She was psychic that way (the other one was completely oblivious. It was hilarious) This dog would find the first opportunity to bolt out the front door and go sit in the car. It didn’t matter if I was an hour from leaving, she’d sit in the car, so clearly saying “look, you are taking me with you, so don’t even try to talk me out of it.” M is doing a lot of that too, coupled with her innate aversion to waking up in the morning, and her discomfort with the disruption of her routine to see boxes piling up in our room. She’s been throwing temper tantrums almost daily. She’s not that kid, so it is rough. I get it, I really do, so I try to be calm, understanding, and underreact. But damn, Mommy’s tired and out of sorts, too, and I really, really don’t like being yelled at.

I want to stamp my foot and plop myself down on the floor in a huff too, and say “I don’t WANT to! This is STUPID!” And cross my arms across my chest and make my best mad face.

I won’t do it, but I’m doing it in my head.