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Language Log

Saturday, Jun. 29, 2019 - 9:41 p.m.

This house has no locks and nowhere for me to get away and without intervention I am right fucking crazy by the end of the day. They just follow me from room to room because they want to be near me. Isn’t that nice? Playing iPad and showing me things and asking for orange juice or milk or water or bread with jam or eggs over and over.

Tonight I was going to make tacos but it was a different spice mix than usual and it was too spicy. I then had to make quesadillas for everyone. The tortillas were bigger than usual. The knives here are crap. Everyone wanted theirs at once. I can only make them consecutively. I gave U a shallow bowl instead of a plate. I tried to give E the other half of Q’s. He wouldn’t eat it. It was on the counter. I was tired of making quesadillas. There was another half I didn’t cut yet. U was yelling for a plate, Q was asking for her seconds, E wanted some but not that one. I got yelly. I sat down with my food, I just wanted to eat my food, the nectarines weren’t very good. A few bites then hands over ears, eyes shut, rocking. Everyone yelling at me. For a while.

So what was it. My mood. Being alone all day with no breaks? The strange spice packet? The derailed dinner plans? The demands? I don’t know. I’m not very good but at least I didn’t say the words I was thinking.

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