Home Sweet Home

I can’t say that I’m glad to be here. Aside from my apartment being trashed, I can’t won’t deal with the crap anymore.

Everyone here better be grateful that I am in a calm place or they wouldn’t be here any more. Their response, “We tried.” Tried what? I don’t even want to know what blew up on and was repeatedly cooked to the walls of my microwave. I don’t want to know what is in that glass that I put into the trash instead of trying to clean it. Closing the door to the bathroom after the cat has pooped everywhere in there does not make it go away.

Yes, I had to clean that mess up AND wash and dry towels before I could even take a shower when I arrived home. Being on the road for two days didn’t put me in a much better mood.

Instead of getting my self organized and packed up to head back up North I have spent the past two days cleaning up after these children adults. Adults, that is the key word here. My youngest is 18.

This is my fault. I realize that and take full responsibility. I didn’t raise them this way, but did allow them to continue with mom is a maid attitude. I am tired of the excuses. Tired of theirs but more tired of mine.

No more excuses as to why I allow my children to treat me this way. No more excuses why I treat myself this way.