I have a broken tooth and no set date for geting it fixed, so my phobia of dentists is free to whirl in full force. I’m constantly slurring, and the tooth next to it needs pulled as well. I’ve not been this self-conscious in years.
I have had the most difficult week of work I think I’ve ever had in my life. None of that difficulty is from technical reasons. The office is noisy, and I don’t feel like I fit in there anymore.
I just got home at eight. This is the earliest I’ve been home this week, other than the comp day I was given on Tuesday because we all thought the dentist would actually be, y’know, fixing my tooth.
Steph had a minor outpatient procedure on Tuesday afternoon. She’s still wiped and drained, and the kids have been taking advantage of that to try to play us against each other. That shit don’t fly.
Treanna just said grace over the meal. She prayed that Steph would be healed, and then added “And help Dad with his over-sad, over-mad times.” I felt like I’d been punched in the testicles. I couldn’t eat, and got up to hid the fact that I was crying.
I’m locked in my office with another family dinner going on in the other room that I, putz that I am, am once again missing. I’m tired of being so damn broken, I’m tired of being in the middle of this desert. I’m not asking for fame and wealth and to slay all the dragons and vanquish all my enemies. I’m just trying to raise decent kids, have time for my wife, do good work, meet our needs, and make a difference in the lives of the people around me in whatever way God leads.
I don’t feel like clay. I feel like a mud pie. In a desert. So, not so much mud as much as dust and grit. And the grit’s pretty much been blown away.