What I want most to do this morning is not talk - not let anything out for fear it will be a scream and rant of epic proportions. But then there's NaBlo. I'm not very good about talking without saying what's on my mind. I'm not very good at blogging without spewing if things are brewing with my ex (=Mr. Tapioca Head for any new readers.) And they are. Looks like we'll be in court for this custody battle sometime around the beginning of the year. (Such a great way to start out a year, eh?) The papers saying he is the better parent would be laughable if it weren't for the fact that these are my kids on the line.
My brain is so full of anger that I'm not going to post any more today. I'm going to go get some thread and quilt. I'm going to dig up my favorite book (Rimrunners by CJ Cherryh) and get lost in a (hot) ex-space marine's troubles. I'm going to get sucked into football and probably cheer too loudly. I'm going to run (but not the ten sets because Bet is sick) and I'm going to lift. Through all of it I'm going to pray and throw spells and say affirmations and all that cheesy stuff that has comforted folks and worked magic through the centuries. I'm going to be grateful that my children are healthy and beautiful beings and remind myself that as awful as this crap seems, there are so many moms who deal with worse situations on fewer resources. I hope somewhere in all that avoidance and gratitude I recover the parts of me I like best because the part of me that could easily spend the next two hours typing about what a lying, dickweed my ex is? Not so much my best side.