A little while ago, I came across a picture on the internet that showed a garage where the door had been opened to reveal a wall of snow completely filling the opening, and a snow blower sitting in the garage. On the wall of snow there were three letters in spray paint — FML. Shorthand for the rather crude phrase, “Fu*k My Life.” At the time I chuckled. All of us have that thought from time to time, I expect. Most people don’t actually believe it.
Unfortunately, much of the time I think that thought and mean it. At the moment, I’ve just been through a one hour long complete meltdown because we threw away a couple of cardboard boxes. The performance included screaming at the top of his lungs, throwing stuff, banging heads on the wall, treating everyone like shit, and yelling at me and Liz. It was as if we were performing open heart surgery without anesthetic; like we had skinned his pet dog alive in front of him.
The only advantage to today’s meltdown was that it only kind of spilled over onto one of my other kids. Usually it results in high drama across the board. My family acts like they hate each other. Whether that’s true or not, they sure can’t stand being together for more than a few seconds. My family is a wreck. Looking at the way things are, how they are supposed to be, and how they are likely to be; I’m ready to say it with all seriousness. Again. Today. And most days.