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 All right, I admit it. I'd like to be a drunk.

I don't honestly mean that, of course, because when you're a lush, you don't have any life at all. You're bankrupt, you're boozing, and you're probably in bad need of a shower.

But boy, I would so like to ditch the responsibilities right now and just feel sorry for myself.

My neighbor called me not long ago. "I think you're having a depression," she ventured carefully. Actually, scratch that. She wasn't careful about it at all.

But no. No depression for me. I wish. I've had six of those depressions and I know exactly what it feels like when they start to creep into your life. It's like you're in a shoebox and the lid is closing slowly down on you.

No, what I'm feeling these days is just rat-tired and sorry for myself. I'm tired of my ex who breezes in once a week to provide daycare to his daughter. I'm tired of my other ex who just breezes in whenever he wants. I'm tired of my kids.

It's been three years and five months since my last (very last) daughter was born. I spent a year and a half nurturing her while clinically depressed and I spent two years getting my feet back under me after leaving my husband.

Now I want to have "me" time. And by this point, I don't think a day will be enough. I want a week. Three weeks. A month.

I just want to ditch all consequences for a while, so I can appreciate what I have in my life once I'm ready to be a single parent again.

Whining? Oh yeah. I'm whining. I'm a woman. Aren't I allowed?

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