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Language Log

Friday, Nov. 10, 2017 - 12:33 p.m.

Made a little origami box with fancy folded top. U wanted to make one too so this morning we did. It involves some fairly precise folding and you have to get nice sharp creases for it to work. Then you have to mess with it a bit to get it to fold up like a pinwheel. At that point U decided I had done too much of it, and set about trying to destroy it (in such a way that he put on a big show of trying to destroy it without actually damaging it much). Wanted me to start over. Make the paper smooth again. I unfolded it for him so he could try, by of course it wasn't enough. It's so wearying. Why did I spend all that time and patience trying to help him do it? I walked away and "whatevered" his ostentatious show of destruction. Made them breakfast. Gave E his toast on a plate, a regular plate because the plastic ones were in the dishwasher. He didn't like that plate and made a show of deliberately dropping it and breaking it.

I left to go to my room. They followed, of course. E now crying (feeling bad, I guess), and U still waving around his sheet of paper telling me all the bad things he was going to do to it. I'm just so sad, I said. I just wanted to teach U a thing he wanted to learn, and it wasn't good enough and now he is just trying to make me sad. It's working, I am sad. Then he went over to my drafting table talking about breaking my things. I picked him up and put him out of the room and locked it. Rest of way into meltdown.

I don't know how to explain the line between regular mad, sad, and meltdown. Except in meltdown I want to rip my own face off. And then at some point I am laying there eyes open or closed, I hear everything and am thinking about everything and thinking about what I should say or do, except I don't. My body stays there, staring into the pillow. People can come and harangue me and demand I talk until I lash out. That's not a good idea. Other than that I just lay there until ideally everyone leaves and eventually I feel better. No one left today. They came in and yelled at me to talk. U bounced on me. Eventually I got up and made them the damn cheesy toast, but not before snapping at them because they ask me to make cheesy toast and then immmediately start saying "give me my cheesy toast" over and over again when they can see that I am fucking making it and that it isn't fucking ready yet. So I give them the half-warm toast and they start crying because it isn't ready. WELL NO SHIT IT ISNT READY MAYBE YOU CAN RELY ON ME TO MAKE IT AND DECIDE WHEN IT IS DONE AND THEN GIVE IT TO YOU BECAUSE I DO THIS ALL THE FUCKING TIME AND I DONT NEED A 5 YEAR OLD FUCKING SUPERVISING ME.

So when I don't recover properly from a meltdown, that happens. I didn't really cuss that much. Now I am still laying here feeling like things are pretty much not worth doing. I did ok as I tried hard not to lash out earlier and managed not to. Except over the toast. I wanted to rip up his paper but I didn't. I wanted to yell about the plate but I didn't. Gold fucking star.

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