I'm falling apart at the seams. I really am.

When I was a child, I mean a little thing not more than 2, I had a favorite doll. I adored her. She had a hard plastic face, a whisp of blond hair peeking from underneath her yellow hood that was sewn into her head, and a soft bean bag body. I loved her to no end and carted her everywhere. I think mom used to have to sneak her away when I took naps just to toss her into the washer. Anyway, after so much wear and tear, she got, well, torn. It started as just a little hole at the base of her neck that leaked these tiny little gray pepples and it morphed into a gaping chasm emptying her of her contents (which I scruptuously saved by the way). All that I was left with was an empty headed doll with a rag for a body; just a shell.

That's precisely how I feel now. I feel empty, yet oddly full. Like there's nothing of myself remaining but goddamn I have so much on my plate. I'm just plain overwhelmed. Tiredness is one thing, I mean hell that will NEVER go away so long as I have children. But it's the fullness of it all that's getting to me. I don't have a spare second when I am home for anything. I have to divide my time between the kids, cleaning, cooking and errands. Even playtime is becoming a chore because it takes up a vast amount of time. Everything boils down to time. And oddly enough the most time consuming thing should be work, since I spend the greater part of 40+ hours a week there; but I'm blessed with a job so slack that I often wish I were able to slip out and come home just so I could be catching up with something. And kiddo's spring break is coming up soon and I damn sure don't want to spend the entire week cleaning and unpacking.

But I've got to do something regarding the state of my home. It's bordering ridiculousness. I never thought in a million years my home would affect my person as much as it does. But the clutter, trash, boxes and clothing, and TOYS are all doing me in. I morph into this angry, yelling screaming mom that is frustrated because she can't take two steps without kicking, tripping, stomping, or smashing an item in the way. So it takes twice as long to find things, to cook things, to place things. I'm going out of my mind with the disorder. All I want is a clean home and I can relax. Is that too much to ask?

Apparently so but it's all good because I am seriously thinking of hiring someone to help me and to maintain.

So once I cross that cluttery bridge let's move to another space that needs a good cleaning... my heart AND my mind. Lately, I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling lonely as hell. It's neither hormones, nor jealousy because my friends are all married or involved with someone. It's just about time I suppose for these emotions to surface I suppose. Much as I try to project the Ice Queen image, I too have my weaknesses. For once I'd like sex with a little emotion behind it; for someone to express their every feeling for me without uttering a word; and for God's sake to have a single conversation with a man without the word "pussy" being mentioned. For someone to love me. There I said it. I want to love and be loved in return by someone over the age of 18.

But apparently my stipulations for the "perfect gentleman" are a little too strict. For example, my number one preference would be that he's single but since the only men I attract are, um, spoken for already I'm assuming I may have to lower my expectations.

Fuck that. I've lowered my expectations down to pond scum level and still haven't met a decent available man and I be damned if I lower them further. Since Mr. Right keeps waltzing up to me disguised as Mr. "Right Now" he can keep waltzing on by. I be damned if I keep getting my heart broken by selfish ass jerks that want to come home to the wife, but have marital relations with me. I'm not fool enough to think that I don't deserve better than what I'm getting now. If I have to make the choice between being the fuck of the day and being a sad, lonely soul... Consider me one sad sack bitch.