Still no phone call. I hate coming to work when all I feel like doing is sitting in the floor and crying. I feel like I should be there, with Nana, helping Momma, but I can't see my way clear to do that with all these other obligations. Heather has to be delivered to summer school each day by 7:45, so I can't sleep late and I can't go traipsing off to Henry County Medical Center. Miranda has to have her daily chat, and Stephen has to beg for money to stave off starvation while he's in Atlanta. I have bills to pay with money I don't have. I'm so frustrated and so tired...I guess I'm feeling guilty with a side order of feeling sorry for myself because my sister did take off work yesterday and did go sit with Momma and Nana. She tells me they think Nana had a stroke, but it's hard to tell and they won't put her through a CAT scan to see if there's any blockage. We just have to wait. And so we wait.
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
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