I feel completely done in by my kids. Broken. Like every negative thought I could ever have about myself is all wrapped up in one vomitous mass and handed to me wrapped up with a bow. Like I don't know if I can do it one. more. day. Like the mountain of guilt I feel grows larger everyday, and those days I feel like "hey, I did a pretty good job," (not great, mind you, just pretty good, just manageable), those days? Stays the same. But the guilt, the damn, God-forsaken guilt, gets larger and larger and threatens to take me over. And that, people, is where I am today. Sad and broken and ready to just give up. And certainly not to write a fucking blog post. Not that anyone is reading these days. So who am I writing this for? I don't know anymore. Maybe just me, and I guess that's okay. Cuz maybe I need to focus my vision elsewhere for a while.