I seem to have an extremely low tolerance for irritation today.  Every little thing is annoying the crap out of me to the point of completely losing my #$*#.  I don’t like being screamed at on a good day, but today is not a good day; therefore, I am really, really, really not liking the parts where I get screamed at.  So far it’s only Elvis doing the screaming, but since he screams enough for four children, it is like everyone is screaming at me, even though they’re not.  I feel sorry for the children who are not purposely irritating me because I am acting as if they all are.

I’m not sure why this should be because as I was saying yesterday, I finished all my Christmas shopping.  The Christmas cards are out.  The house is a freaking disaster, sure, and the kids are all home instead of at school, but there’s really no good reason for me to feel this stabby.  I seem to have all this nervous energy that I don’t know what to do with.  Every time I think, “Hey, I know–clean the house!” I turn around and immediately think, “No, no–lock yourself in the bedroom and cry!”  I’ve skipped the stage of depression where I just want to sleep and gone straight to the part where I just want to cry.  Why do I want to cry?  I don’t actually have a reason.  It’s very frustrating.

I might not have slept very well last night.  I seem to recall something along those lines, even though I also recall being very tired when I went to bed.  So tired that I wanted to cry, in fact.  Hm.  I did watch a very depressing episode of Angel last night.  Two depressing episodes, actually.  Maybe I’m hurting from the lack of closure on that front.  It’s hard to say.

Yesterday I sent Mister Bubby over to a friend’s house, where he ended up spending the night.  He came home around noon and has been whining that he has nothing to do.  He wants me to give him ideas.  I suggested that he clean the family room, and that has shut him up for the time being.

Also yesterday, whilst MB was over at said friend’s house, Princess Zurg’s friend was at our house.  This is one of her (many) friends with the ADHD.  She is a sweet, sweet girl, but when she asked if she could stay for dinner, I just…couldn’t…say yes.  My strategy for having my daughter’s friends over ever again as long as they live is for them to stay for relatively-short periods of time when they do come.  Five or six hours, tops.  She called this morning and asked if she could come over again.  I said yes because PZ so rarely has her friends over, and actually this particular friend-with-the-ADHD is great because she likes to play with Girlfriend, too (something that her older siblings do not do of their own accord very often).  So it’s like two play dates for the price of one.  Unfortunately, that is also one of the reasons the house is a disaster.  Not that we couldn’t have done it without her.  Oh, no.  But she helps speed the process along.

If only there were someone for Elvis to play with.  I sometimes wonder if there is more I could be doing on the Elvis-socialization front.  Well, of course there is.  That’s not what I meant.  What I meant is that I sometimes wonder if I should feel guiltier, or feel guilty more often, about not doing more on the Elvis-socialization front.  It’s just so much work, amigos.  I can’t just invite a kid over and say, “Okay, Elvis and Random Kid–have at it!”  There needs to be more adult direction than that, especially if the Random Kid also has social/cognitive issues.  I have a hard enough time socializing for myself.  I really shouldn’t be the go-to person for fixing other people’s social lives.  And yet, here I am, the proud parent of two children who need a lot of help on the socialization front.  That’s like karma or something.  Or irony.  Ironic karma, perhaps.  I don’t know.

It’s really my husband, the people-person, who should be the at-home parent, micro-managing everyone’s social lives.  Unfortunately, he already has a job.  We could switch places, but with the disparity in our employable skill sets, the pay cut would be too drastic, i.e. we would have to live on the streets and eat ketchup packets (which would make it difficult to host play dates, as well).

Anyway.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah, the wanting-to-cry part.  I think I’ve worked through that.  Now I just want to eat some stuff.  But I will probably do the dishes instead.  Maybe clean the family room, since no one else is going to.