How much can a woman do?

WARNING: THIS IS A RANT. A LONG ONE. IF YOU'RE A MAN, PLEASE DON'T BOTHER READING THIS. YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND.
It's a rant that goes around in circles. Like me.

I haven't been around a long time. But when emotions build up, this is really the place to come to. To vent vent, vent, cry out in words and go back to life post 7 p.m. and cook dinner like nothing really happened. Though I may be all Hiroshima inside.

Today's been bad. Goes without saying. That explains the presence.

What all must a woman really do? This is something bothering the hell out of me. I'm sure a lot of women do much more than I'm doing now. Maybe without complaint. Maybe they're sharing it all. Maybe they're happy. Maybe they're sad. Maybe they want to throw hot rasam on the kitchen wall.

I mean look at all that I can think of -- work, earn, cook, keep home, clean, manage maids, care for husband, child, ageing parents, take emotional shit from people, go back and still smile at boss while gritting teeth, look good, cook and eat healthy, sun the winter woolies, air the summer cottons, buy a new raincoat, exercise, diet, keep good relations with neighbours, call the in-laws everyday, buy the soap, put away the boiled and cooled milk in the fridge, buy the medicine, catch up with old girlfriends (to retain sanity), set out the clothes that need ironing, call the aunt who always has verbal diarrhea, pack the child's bag, buy the onions, switch off all the lights and fans that spouse leaves on, don't forget to wear kaajal or the eyebags get highlighted, boil the drinking water, fill the forms, decide what to make for breakfast tomorrow, humour the neighbours in conversation in the apartment when all you want to do is go home and flop down, but then go home and head straight to the loo and then to the kitchen and then it will be more than 3 hours before you can actually flop down. Feel guilty you're not doing enough. Cry yourself to sleep. Wake up all bleary eyed and start all over again. Three days of annual vacation DOES NOT offset all this crap.

I mean is there an end to the list?
Is there a day when you can mentally not have a "to do" list?
Aren't there moments in life when you wish everyday didn't seem like a chore or a string of them you "have to" do rather than want to.

And to top it all there's no room for yourself, your reading, your TV watching, your thought process about things not related to home and hearth (chances are it's always interrupted by thoughts of home and hearth). It's just thanklessly moving from doing one thing for someone to doing another thing for someone else. Forget being thanked. Getting criticised. Or worse, ignored.
And whoever said doing all this selflessly gives them joy, I mean, please, for heaven's sake don't say it in front of me. Not today.

And I hate it when the man is emotionally "switched off" -- to to all these things that happen around him. I cannot understand that capability of being more alive to your TV channel, your raucous comedy shows, your Blackberry and your laptop, your office colleagues and your overseas boss, than to the wife and child around you. And being incapable of doing things at home naturally because he's part of the household, but rather needs to be told what to do. Aaaaararrrrggghhhhh.... Couldn't be bothered by all these "small things" mentioned in the big paragraph above. I mean if you make it into a list and give it to a man, he'll scratch out 90 per cent of them as "unnecessary", give it back to you, and ask what's cooking for dinner.

(I think I wrote a similar post a few months ago...now, did I? I sound so familiar to myself!)

P.S: I haven't been feeling like writing. I don't know what's happened. Maybe too many things on my mind. Maybe mid-life crisis. Maybe my mom's undiagnosable illness.

My dear dear Aparna and Aparna, Uma, Garima, Sahana...a thousand apologies.
I've been off the grid and not reading either. Guilty on two counts :-(

Things fall apart, the centre does not hold

Or should I say the mind falls apart, the body does not hold

I'm in a blur today
Life is a blur today
My head is throbbing like I have a hangover. But I don't.
I've just been randomly swimming through the day, zombie-eyes, zombie-faced and zombie-minded.

All because of one dose of strong antihistamine last night.
My allergic rhinitis was triggered off so bad last night, I'm still aching from the 50 odd sneezes that I did sneeze in a span of three hourst.
As a last resort, took an antihistamine and it kicked in after an hour and oh boy is my head bobbing today. My neck feels like I've been carrying a plough on it for ages. My eyes need matchsticks (Tom N Jerry style) to keep them open and me awake.

I don't know what I'm writing, but I feel like writing, because I want to write it all off my head, and not go back home with more swimming floating thoughts.

I know I'll be ok by tomorrow but it's so horrible to not have your wits around you to tackle simple tasks in a day. I hate it.

Why are we expected to function to full capacity everyday? Day after day? How come it's on bad days like this that you have enough work to last you three days but a deadline that says "now"? I could use lots of cheering up but so could everyone else at work I suppose. We are all so trapped at our terminals and wallowing in our own miserable sorrowful lives.

Eeeks I sound depressed...maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Maybe just disoriented. Tired. Sleepy. Needing rest. Needing a break.

Uff this kind of writing is triggering off memories of college and a lecturer who taught us writing by "free association". I think that's what I'm doing today, now. Writing reams and reams of whatever is coming to my head....not good, not good when it's all so negative and i-don't-know-what. Does anyone else have such days or am I the only loser?

Ok time to sign off...whatever!

When the milk of motherly kindness boils over...and singes

There have simply been too many days this past week that I've hated being a mother.
Honestly, don't tell me you haven't had one of those "moments" when you've plain and simple just hated your child. (Ok hating being mom and hating your child are two different things directed at two different people but so intrinsically linked, I don't think you can separate the hatred, specially when you're upset.)
Of course one is so shocked by the thought that you suddenly bring yourself out of it, admonish yourself, say a little prayer to be forgiven for such unimaginable thoughts, and go give your little one a hug.

But that one moment of hatred is intense.
It's triggered most in me when Sonny Boy has his "I want this, I want it now, I want this only and now only...whaaaaaaa baaaaaah" even before I can minimally respond to it. I call this his ziddi avatar, his stubborn  and unreasonable self that takes over his personality every once in a few days. Or as I look back now every few hours in a day.

First I wanted to blame it on his series of illness, his discomfort, his frustration at being confined to the home.
But sometimes I think it's inexcusable. He just starts off without warning, tugs at me, hits me, hits some furniture inevitably in the process...and just won't listen.

My point is if I said no to something, he could THEN cry and protest. The very asking is done wrong, which is so pissing off. I don't expect a two-year-old to be very reasonable, but watching nursery rhymes on DVD all day when I'm home is quite ridiculous and unacceptable.

He refuses his toys, won't play on his own. Will play only if I join him. I thought kids could manage at this age about 20 minutes of play by themselves, at least that's what I remember Dr. Spock's as saying. I have a huge bin of toys for him, then there are books, colours, lots of paper. I even replace old books/toys with new ones so he won't get bored. But no! He must have rhymes, over and over and over again.

There are times when I feel I want to throw him out of the window, make him invisible, make him vanish for a few moments. I feel so guilty having these thoughts. But then I'm glad I have them, because this overwhelming sense of horribleness takes over that I'm being so mean to a small little creature that didn't exactly choose to be here. I brought him here so I better just learn to calm him down.

Then again, I have a problem with all parenting sites that tell you to calm a child using various methods -- distract them with something else (he's crying so loud and clinging to my feet so hard I can't move and he can't hear), be calm, count to 10 or sing (hmmppph if i could be calm i would be world's best mum and hah! sing???!!! i want to scream too). And when you are frustrated and tired after a day's work, a sudden slap delivered on his bottom gets things out of your system and shocks the hell out of the kiddo -- i mean he gives me this "What?you actually it me?!" look and i think he stops crying half out of shock/surprise.

I always think this process is like this huge pot of milk kept on boil. As the milk heats up, it rises and for some time it forms a puffed up creamy cloud on top of the pot (if you're on sim!) but if you're on full flame, it just boils over the top, falls on the flame, singes and smells and sets alarms off in your mind.

Life prosaic

i hate
watching the same nursery rhyme over and over again for 45 minutes
not getting to see my own bit of TV :-(
finding that when i do get the time and remote, there's nothing much to watch, only to surf
having my morning's paper trampled all over
having S wake up immediately after i do
having S banging on the bathroom door and wailing as if i'll never return
S always deciding to potty mid-meal!