I'm lying here, in a puddle of my own self pity. I can't seem to drag myself out of this funk, shower off the self-indulgent wallowing residue and DO something about all this apathy. My apathy, my husband's apathy, my children's apathy - I can't take it all on, and I don't want to. But neither do they, and the effort of making them just take care of their own pile of stuff to do wears me out, leaves me angry and desolate at the same time.
Don't tell me what to do, even if you mean well. I have enough people telling me what to do right now, and that isn't really helping. I'm introspective enough to figure out what's going on, eventually anyway, and phoenix-like, I'll rise again. But will they? It's hard to fly when someone's hanging onto your wings, crying, "But what'll we have for dinner? Where are my underwear?"
See, need isn't the same thing as love. Need is grasping, clawing, selfish. Love is nurturing, unselfish, giving. We might need to be needed, but it doesn't take the place of love. Love replenishes us, need sucks us dry. Need often tries to pass itself off as love, but it's perpetual hunger always kills what would have thrived with love.
(Wow, was that vague and rambling enough? Dead giveaway that I'm teetering on Batsa right now, isn't it? I wish I could be more concise, more philosophical, more like the duck's back of Buddha, letting all the shit roll off and going "Ohm", but it ain't happening, not right now.)