zeldafitz

Monday, May 16, 2005

Betty the Loon

Meanwhile...back at the impromtu goose preserve. My son tried to feed Cap'n Crunch to the new Japanese fighter fish we got yesterday. Buying the fish took three trips, two for my husband and one for me. My trip resulted in a parking lot skirmish that almost caused me to cry and shelve the whole trip. But then I remembered that retail therapy was the whole purpose of the trip. This was, as referenced earlier (in previous post "Monday, Monday,") after my "Betty Blue" morning wherein the ceasless demands of my merry band of wild Indians resulted in me craving the comforting confines of a straight jacket. I was in Frances Farmer territory--not on the brink. Brink sounds too delicate for the state I was in. I was in a nether world of ever-graying sanity, the moors and trappings and delicate infrastructure of the webs and wires that separate me from the nuthouse inmates were starting to unravel. Like your thumb separates you from the primates, we all have intricate inner workings meant to keep us on an even keel. These were eroding at a dizzying pace. Anyway, Sunday morning with the wee ones was not halycon. I started talking to myself--ALWAYS a bad sign--in that caustic, nutfarm, Mommy Dearest/Betty the Loon kind of way. Like, "I used to have a LIFE before this..." kind of crazy martyr bitch stuff. I couched most of it, but some of the battery acid seeped out. My eldest son (7) looked unfazed, as in: Mommy is acting like a kook again. I rationalize it by thinking that I am really preparing him for life in the real world which is dominated by crazy women. He's at the PhD level now. My husband came back from large Asian mart and patted my shoulder as I sat on the couch in post-lobotomy stage and said, "Come back from where you are. I need you." I must have looked scary because normally he would have just shoved a passle of white bags filled with overly fresh, reasonably priced produce in my face and gone back out for the rest. Leonard Woolf used to doggedly ascend the stairs to Virginia's room with a glass of milk on a tray. It drove her nuts, but I think of it that way sometimes--like I have a keeper. PTL.