I’m not really sure what the appropriate timeframe for post-traumatic stress disorder is, but I do know that I am so often INappropriate that this should be of no consequence to me, anyway.
Yesterday we enjoyed a snowday, my kidlets and me. We watched hours of mindless television! We didn’t get dressed until after lunch! We (they) played in the snow and we (I) cleared the driveway! We had grilled cheese for lunch and baked a delicious meatloaf for dinner! We decorated the tree, or at least a one foot square area where the kids hung most of their ornaments!
It was a fabulous day, albeit rife with extra exclamation points!!!
And then my ex came to pick up the kids last night, and I gave him a big chunk of meatloaf to take home, because nothing says “thank you for not yelling at me for almost killing your children” like ground up cow mixed with ketchup and then shaped like bread.
And then… it was quiet.
I have a snowblower, so I didn’t have to shovel much, earlier, but it’s still fairly strenuous to push that thing around. I was definitely feeling the exertion. I considered a glass of wine, then figured I’d be better off with some pain pills (which certainly should not be mixed with alcohol). So I took those and settled for a rootbeer float, because it has the word “beer” in it but involves ice cream.
My float and I crawled into bed (okay, the float stayed on the nightstand) to watch some television. By 9:00 I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I turned off the television and fell asleep immediately.
I woke up at 12:04 from a horrible nightmare wherein I’d lost Chickadee in a gigantic mall and some security guard kept telling me that maybe I should just let her go, which caused my panic to mingle with horrified indignation. She was missing and no one would help me. I woke up right before I ripped the guard’s face off, which was actually a little disappointing.
I woke up at 1:57 from a slow-motion replay of the actual accident, except in this one, I couldn’t get Monkey out of the car for some reason. He was trapped inside, and Chickadee was bleeding to death, and no one had stopped to help, and I had to figure out which one of them to tend to. It was very Sophie’s Choice.
I woke up at 4:12 sobbing. I don’t remember if I was having a dream then or not.
I. Am. Tired.
I’m afraid to go back to sleep.