A Musing Mother 6

There are some lovely perks to changing from summer to autumn every year. Leaves changing color, after moving inside the house, the flies finally die and stop buzzing around in every room, and then there are the mice. They seek a more temperate climate. That would typically mean either my garage or my house. As a general rule, I like fuzzy creatures. I even like feathered creatures. I'm not crazy about scaly creatures. I know I complain about my dog but she's a pretty good animal, as a rule. This is particularly true since she has been exposed to the shock collar. The cat brings comfort to the children when they are upset but lately she's been lurking on the kitchen counter like vulture waiting for road kill to die. This is typically my first clue to the possibility that we have a mouse in the house. I feel no  love for mice. They seem to serve no purpose. They aren't even cute. They are useless and I place them in the category of ferrets, flies, and David Hasselfhoff.

I know I've been quiet for awhile. It's not a blogging slump. It's a life slump. I'm hanging over the edge of a the building of life with my fingertips barely clinging to the side. It's not so terrible just lonely. My best ally went and had brain surgery at a critical moment in my life so I couldn't process my crisis because, well, he had brain surgery. Which is partly the reason of my crisis at work. But only partly because I had to draw boundaries, anyway. There is no theme to this post. I'll just be blathering, by the way. New job has me stressed. I feel isolated and not supported. I've put in waaayy too many hours in my subconscious way to please people because that's what I do. It's why I became a counselor, I think. But I thought there would be some reciprocal action going on. But, no. Rather than seeing it as a gift, my colleagues saw it as a norm and scheduled me to teach classes all day long for the next month. I don't work all day.