Adulting is not my forte…

Adulting… that wonderful adjective my generation has turned into a verb. I’m not good at it. Really not good at it. I’ve been trying this whole bullet journaling thing – basically I’m really crap at acknowledging my accomplishments and the journal is supposed to show me I’m doing a good job – but I’ve already lost the journal. Is that an accomplishment? Do I get a gold star? Probably not. It’s probably more like losing my homework. Regardless, I’m having so many problems with motivation, focus, and just general apathy. It’s basically a household of struggle, but I’m really okay with that overall. I get to love them all harder and while I’m not usually the caretaker, I get to try.

The kiddo has been struggling with his teenaged angst and thusly acting out, making my life so much fun. Honestly, the lie I caught him in the other day was just beyond lazy. He rage-quit a paper he was writing and deleted the whole damn thing. Then he tried to tell me his teacher did it. I managed, heroically, to wait until later to laugh at him, but seriously man. The only way I could envision that scenario had his teacher dressed all spiffy, wearing a suit with a cape, monocle, top hat, and an evil, but wispy curled mustache. Which, if that actually did happen, the teacher deserves to win. Not even lying.

My wifey is, of course, struggling against the corporate structure. That lovely girl needs to find a job with a non-profit or something that lets her help people. She used to do social work, but one client managed to get her to leave the whole sector because of the constant harassment. I was honestly impressed because prior to that Sara had dealt with a client who found a dead body on his couch and another who stole her dealer’s meth, smoked it, and had a hit out on her. I admire her ability to sigh, shake her head in frustration, and then help these special kitties. Especially since she comes home and cuddles me as her own little special kitty.

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