It’s almost 2am on a Monday night. The little lady is sitting in the living room on the sofa with the TV off, refusing to go to bed.

FINE. Sit there.

I’m in my room listening for sounds of her moving while watching her on the camera. I’m not going to fight with her or drag her to her room kicking and screaming. It’s another of those days. She had one yesterday and here we are again. I’M OVER IT for the day. If she insists that she’s going to sit there in the quiet and the dark just for the sake of being defiant, fuck it… HAVE AT IT. She can win this battle, if that’s what you wanna call it.

It’s late… as of right now, almost 2am. I have to work in the morning. Yesterday was a shit show too, and I’m just exhausted. I’d be lying if I said I’m not resentful. I’m resentful of her raggedy ass son living his life as if he doesn’t have a mom. I’m resentful of the horrible system that’s keeping me from getting any sort of relief or help to care for her. I’m resentful of HER even though I KNOW she can’t help it. I’m tired… mentally, physically, and all the ways a person can just be TIRED.

It’s been a rough few weeks… twice in the hospital, not walking, now she’s feeling a bit better, but that means her nasty defiant attitude is back. In some ways, it was easier when she was bed bound. Whether or not she wanted to comply with things that needed to get done (bathing, changing, etc.), she had no choice. Feeling better means I’m back to picking and choosing battles–do I physically MAKE her go to bed or just let her sit there?

Tonight, she’ll sit there until she gets tired of sitting there. And in the morning, she’ll get up and have to start the day because I refuse to let this cause a trickle-down mess for another day.

I’m irritated and I’m going to sleep.