It's Not You, It's Me

If, hypothetically, my children had a great day, I would not tell you about it.

I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I know you more than anyone would completely deserve to hear if they, say, had a day of no fighting, and made me Hanukah presents out of construction paper and found items around the house. After all, you have put up with my kvetching for years now.

It's just, to be honest, I don't blog for you. I love you, I really do, but I blog purely for medicinal purposes -- life-saving ones. You and I know for a scientific fact that if I told you something purely fictional of course like that they cuddled and smiled and called me cute and read books and went to bed on time with no complaints, that tomorrow I'd be doomed. I don't want to be so doomed that even coming here for my one catharsis could not sustain me. That goes against everything in my survival instinct. I will understand if you feel this relationship is out of whack and don't want to put up with my madness anymore, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

No, even though you have seen me through my darkest hours, lovingly and unselfishly, you won't hear me ever tell you about any crazy rare days when everyone in my family felt happy and good.

But I hope we can still be friends.