Day Fifteen

That scheduling conflict Sully and I were is disagreement on last week began today. I spent most of today rather bitter. A myriad of things went wrong too, only adding to my salty disposition and feelings of neglect. I would love to say I just leaned in hard to God, withdrew from the pools of wisdom, and found peace that passes all understanding today. But that would be a lie.

Every single thing that happened from waking till I sat down to type this, felt exasperating. Charlee's little goat seems out of sorts, sickly with something we can't quite diagnose, so we treated the most likely causes. But sickness, whether it is goat or child, stresses me to the max. Especially when the sickly can't communicate what's going on. It would have been nice to have Sully home tonight...just for MY peace of mind. 

I will admit, I have a bad attitude. I'm mad that the conflict couldn't be resolved by finding some compromise. I'm frustrated I was the one to have to 'suck it up' entirely. So I likely blew every little thing that happened today out of proportion. I am sure my kids feed off of my mood, which is why the kids bedtime ended with all of us in tears. 

I had a good day as far as sticking to my diet regiment goes...that is until 8:00, after putting two crying kids and a sad little goat to bed...then I bailed out of the plane without a parachute on! I feel nauseous...and exhausted, and lonely, and sad. Day Fifteen wasn't my best day. 

I know these feelings will be here tomorrow. Because Sully will still be gone. And they will persist through Saturday, and drag into Sunday when he returns. Strange how sometimes our choices, they cut deep like a razor blade, leaving pain. His homecoming can't fix what was already lacerated. Time heals all wounds they say. But time, takes time and I'm impatient.

Sully may have done the cutting, but the infection...the festering, that is all on me. Strange how our choices can prevent healing, how we can resist the antibiotic ointment and Band-Aid and instead knead in the dirt. I wonder in a way if it's masochistic, we would rather have the torment than to swallow our pride and allow healing. Especially if we feel the culpable didn't own their wrongdoing. But really does it make sense? To pull apart our contusion and willfully pollute it so that we can suffer? I reckon that is vain. 

So I guess my hope is to find a way to clean things out, stitch it up, and move forward with less angst. Step 1...start over tomorrow. You're not a failure, till you quit.