Sunday, April 29, 2012

The Many Faces of Me

This is me.  Well, it's me with help from PhotoShop.

Eleven years of coping with my son's regression and subsequent behavior challenges 
has made me stressed-out and weary. I am, quite frankly, exhausted. 
I'm 42 years old, but feel 80. Sometimes, anyway.
More than I'd like.

To cope, I drink Pinot Noir and eat stinky cheese. And write this blog.
All three are yummy.

My husband and I used to go out all the time. But now it's really hard to find
a babysitter that can manage Conor on their own. 
And this autism thing is expensive. So we stay in a lot.
(I keep telling him to cut his hair, but he likes it longer.)

I know I should exercise more, that it would help relieve stress and tension. 
Maybe it would even make me feel younger.
But I hate exercise.  I read athletically instead.
Because you can drink wine and eat cheese while you read a good book, 
but it's really hard to do those things on a spin bike. I wouldn't recommend it.

Some days, I'm so mad at autism, I just want to scream at it to bloody sod off 
and leave me and my son and my family alone.
I often do, I suppose. Scream, that is.

But mostly, I just try to hang on and make the best of it. Because if you
don't laugh, you'll just cry.
And what fun would THAT be?

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