I like to Break Shit

ANOTHER lovely ceramic bowl, one I had been using as a fruit bowl, died this evening.  I’ve had it a long time.

There are little ramekin bowls to match but they don’t get used much.  I like to store loose change in those.

Sometimes cups and the odd plate die in our house too.

This is not unrelated but I like to swear.  When I say like to I mean I can’t help it.

*yes, you can*

No, I can’t.

*yes. You. Can.*

Oh shut the fuck up!

See?

I experience a feeling of such release when I let loose with foul language.  It really takes the boil off my pressure cooker. 

And yes, the odd time I swear in front of the boys.  I am aware of this and working on not doing that at least. 

But something is well and truly lost when you just mouth the word or say it in your head.

Not the same thing at all.

See, I suffer from frustration. 

*Don’t we all, dear?*

Piss off you!

I get frustrated when I don’t get “me time.”  Who invented that anyway?  Weren’t we a much happier bunch without it?

But I need my “me time.” My downtime.  Alone.  With no-one at me, touching me in the slightest way.  If I see one of the boys even walking in my direction, my skin crawls with the need to be left alone.

We all need that space.  And if we choose to spend it looking out the window, so be it.  We need to do what works for us.

So when I am on the go all the time I get antsy.  I become short tempered. Cross.  

Miserable and I feel trapped.  I feel like I am being swallowed alive and I need to do something to release that feeling. 

Something for me.

So I swear.

And sometimes I break stuff.

Like ceramic fruit bowls.  Cups, the odd plate.

Not this one.  This one makes good coffee

I do not have butter fingers.  I am not clumsy.  I am human.  I am a mother who sometimes feels broken with the constant demands of her children.

I am a mother who swears and breaks her crockery.

And I fucking enjoy it!