Blahg

I have a glass of cabernet next to me and am wrapping up some work for the night. It was not an unusually stressful day, but then I am getting used to that. In fact, every day seems about the same.
I let my fingers do the talking most days when I sit to blog except that lately there isn't much to say. I suppose I could go on about my adorable son, the only boy/man I'll likely ever love without caring how much he hurts me. I won't blame him years down the road when he tells me how I screwed his life up because that's the way mother-son relationships work. All children believe they can parent better than those they were given and I doubt my son will be any exception. I am ok with that.
Parenting aside, tonight I cannot think of anything except that I simply have nothing to say (outside of my rambling), which concerns me. I always have something to say. Lately I don't answer the phone because I am not sure what I would talk about. That is not to say that I do nothing. I have a full, active life that I love. I know I do, but for some reason I can't feel it. Not emotionally per se, but I just don't feel anything lately.
I love life. Not to say every day is a rainbow, but I am the kind of girl who belts out Mariah in the car as though I am not in falsetto and doesn't care who sees. I act on impulse typically. I admit as a mother that is not usually the best quality, however, I miss that.
Where did I go? You would think that I am leading you to believe that I am depressed. I might think so if I didn't know any better. I am simply busy. Truly, I rarely have time to indulge in a book, drink a glass of cabernet or dash off to a cabaret. I work, which I love - in small doses. Just not in 55 hour week doses.
I wish the Keebler elves existed. I would pay the little gents to do my dishes, sweep my floors, do my laundry, wash my car, run my son to daycare (my mom's), work my overtime, respond to my emails, water my plant, pay my bills, buy my groceries, and so on.
What would I do in the meantime? Play monster bowling with my son. Play guitar hero. Play my piano. Play soccer or tennis, or both. Go to the beach at night for a bonfire. Read a book in one sitting. Sleep. Travel. Catch more bands.
This, I see now, is why parenting alone sucks. It's not the responsibility, or the kid, or the housework, or the job. It's all of it at once. I have to be mother & father. So I can't be as emotionally attached to my son as most women get or I'll miss him every minute of every day. I can't be as emotionally thick as a man or he'll never get the nurturing he needs. I can't ignore my own desires or I'll be miserable. It's walking a fine tightrope that requires more balance than I've ever needed. Sometimes I wonder how I do it. And I don't mean that as a pat on the back, I mean literally. It's no wonder I don't feel anything anymore. I haven't the time to be anything but tired.
I think I need a housekeeper.