Oh dear lord, where to start? This question takes hold of my brain sometimes and pesters me-- harasses me-- and leaves me feeling a whole bunch of unpleasant things that include exhaustion, exasperation, guilt, anger, and resentment. I used to ponder this idea a lot more when the girls were younger, but less as time goes by. Whether this is because I care less about figuring it out, or that I spend my time doing other things, or that I have accepted that the why doesn't matter much to my situation, is beyond me.
Riding the Crazy Train: Diary of a Delirious Mom
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