It’s a Sunday Evening thing

Since I can remember it has been a battle to sleep Sunday nights.
It’s as if every moment and memory needs checking in in my mind. Some files need dusting, some deleting but tonight if I could find an editing button it would be used. A million times it would edit every single no wait, Most memories as the youngest daughter. My mind reminds me (it’s not your fault) but my heart and brain disagree. More than 2 decades of counselling and I still can not have a desired relationship with my Mother.
It is too late now anyway. She won’t even know me in a few years.
Why am I so much like my father? Because I suppose he is my father.
Is it really being a control freak or is it really just sometimes there is a better way in somebody else’s opinion?
I watched “bravo” with my brother at my mother’s house tonight. We (my brother and I) dodged load shedding and went to my mom. Hannes van Wyk had interviews with Willem Botha and “Magda” about their unique and precious relationships with their mothers.
My world fell apart.
What and why? Why the complex relationship since I can remember?
I know it’s a lie, but feel so punished for not being able to keep quiet. My own 0/10 score for health feels like the price I’m paying. But it is not true.
It is simply not figeroutable and it is Sunday night.
Best chance of some free dopamine is to watch Shucks Shabalala for the 50th time.
Today marks 5 days without any refined sugar. I really don’t know how am I going to make it.
Maybe switching over to a religious 40 day fast will be easier than 21 day self controlled battle.
Then, I am on my way to a wedding next weekend. I am very sure there will be cupcakes.
I think I should treat myself to some chromium.