Some days, like today, it is just a matter of breathing.
Go backstage and catch my breath before the next act.
It was an emotional weekend, like an overacted play full of wonderous highs, crushing lows and whispered asides.
So the fact that I woke this morning feeling a little shell shocked and emotionally bruised was no surprise.
I was ill prepared for the barrage of LIFE that descended upon me in the form of arsehats and morons and fuckknuckles that can’t do their job texting and calling me, meetings with disability liaison officers and aides, Boo meltdowns, and husbands missing their bus sub one week into their new job.
And it didn’t help that the apple TV wasn’t working so I couldn’t drown my sorrows in some All of the Housewives of All of The Places.
Some days are just full of hard.
Not big things, hell not even significant things if I wasn’t feeling so fucking battered already.
Thank fuck for the comfort of a lasagne of awesome* stashed in the freezer and now thawing on the bench, a few bottles of cider in the fridge and the promise of a neck massage** while watching some crappy television in the glow of a couple of thousand Christmas Tree lights this evening, cause it is all that is keeping me from running naked down the street screaming I am a teapot right now.
I guess I am waiting for the next Big Bad Thing to happen. The next blow to knock the breath out of me.
So teeny tiny insignificant stupid things snowball in my mind and missed payment becomes bankruptcy and jail, a fuck up at the real estate becomes homelessness, an itchy mole and I am writing my own obituary.
At least then, when the next catastrophe befalls us, I have already filed away in my mind how to deal with it.
Or at least have the perfect outfit picked out.
My mind is a terrifying place to be.
* MPS is actually unaware that he has promised me a neck massage but in order to save face on teh internetz he totally will.
* I make the best lasagne in all of the lands. True story.
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