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Wednesday, September 27, 2006

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Down in the Valley

6:30 p.m.I am still taking the loss of today's blog post personally. I feel like the mother of one of the disappeared. There is a tightening between my shoulder blades that is just on the verge of being painful. The baby is trying to open my leg with a can opener. The smoke alarm is shrieking hysterically over my roast chicken. My mother calls to express her shock at my using the f-word on tonight's blog post.

6:38 p.m. I take one half of a one milligram tablet of lorazepam.

6:40 p.m. I am overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety that I am now a drug addict whose children should probably be removed from her custody. Also, that I have potty mouth.

6:45 p.m. Unloading the dishwasher, I feel a little something ripple very faintly through my body, bordering on queasiness. I am still bummed about my post and guilty about my inevitable downward spiral into intravenous drug use and prostitution.

6:55 p.m. I sort the boys laundry and pick up their room, the wreckage of which I have unable to face since the weekend. I wonder if the drugs are responsible. I feel no horror or trauma as I turn out their underpants.

7:17 p.m. I call a friend who is a doctor. I tell her I'm not feeling a thing. "That's good," she says. No, no, I explain. I'm not feeling any different. I still have my unhappy feelings. Perhaps I should take another half tablet? Give it some more time, she suggests.

7:50 p.m.The kids are in bed and I read everyone a story. It's the least I can do before abandoning them for the mean streets. I notice that I am patient and acquiescent when they get out of bed one after the other needing a hot water bottle, milk, a peanut butter foldover, crusts cut off, but I can't tell if this is due to the calming effect of the drugs or my sadness at being a junkie mom.

8:30 p.m.Still no euphoria, just guilt. I decide a nice glass of wine would have done more for me, and tasted much better. I wonder if I can bring a really good bottle of syrrah on the plane. It occurs to me there was no airborne terrorism back in the day of open bar service and smoking flights. I guess the whole cabin was like one big capsule of depressants.

8:58 p.m.So much for mother's little helper. I'm kicking tomorrow.


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