Man, you guys. I have not had my sh*t together AT ALL this week. I have been a wicked flake for days now. I don’t know if it’s hormones (How do you make a whore moan? Don’t pay her) the change in seasons or what the heck is going on with me, but if my head weren’t screwed on, I’d walk out of the house without it this week.
I spent the early part of the week totally not feeling well. Tummy troubles, headaches that weren’t quite migraines but had all of the hallmarks of becoming one, achey bones, you name it. Tres suck. So already my mind was scattered with because it was filled with all of the things that that son of a bitch Web MD told me I was probably dying from. I have totally broken up with Web MD. He’s a dick. He’s even worse than Dr. Google, and don’t get me started on him.
A couple of nights a week, Mad spends the night at her dad’s house and he brings her home on his way to work in the morning. We’ve done this for 8 years, the nights are always the same, it’s ingrained in me by now. Or so I thought. Monday morning I woke up, got Mark out the door, got Hallee out the door (which is like fighting and surviving WWIII all before 7:15am) and thought to myself, “OK, time for a quick shower and then kiddo will be dropped off by her dad.” I take said shower and then watch the clock. Huh. They must be running late. Watch the clock some more. Hm. Now I’m envisioning a car accident. (Doesn’t take much)
I figure I’d better go up to her room and get her clothes picked out since we won’t have much time to get ready now. I run upstairs, fling open her door and shriek. She’s sound asleep in her bed. BECAUSE IT WASN’T HER NIGHT AT HER DAD’S HOUSE. I launched myself onto her bed and squeezed her to pieces. Guilt, anyone?
Now, somewhere in the recesses of my little reptile brain, I knew she was home. I put her to bed the night before. I had her backpack and jacket laid out in the living room. But some switch got flipped in my head telling me she was gone and due home. Ugh. In hindsight, I blame Mark. He got up before me that day and when he went upstairs to get coffee, he closed her bedroom door so he wouldn’t wake her up. I came upstairs and saw the closed door my mind clicked over to “she’s not here” mode. Thanks, Mark.
I texted my mother, sister and best friend in a panic. “Please tell me this isn’t early-onset Alzheimer’s.” Their general consensus was that I was tired and should probably take up yoga and/or recreational drinking. I then ignored the wise advice of those who love me and have known me my whole life checked out previously mentioned ex, Web MD where I convinced myself it was a brain tumor, Lyme Disease and West Nile Virus. Again, screw you, internet.
Today sees me a little bit back to normal (ha). I’m still feeling a little bit spread thin, between kids, writing, the household, etc., but am getting a grip on things. In case you didn’t know (and you totally should, because God, do I mean nothing to you?) I got a chance to write a blog for the Bangor Daily News up here. It’s called More Bang(or) For Your Buck and I hope you’ll check it out. It’s about couponing, thrift shopping, raising a family and how I quit my job as a science teacher when I found out I had cancer and started making meth. Oh…wait, wrong story. Tell them how much you like me and I’ll give you a kidney or something. And no, the kidney won’t be mine.
