So I have no intention of trying to fake it for you guys. I'm sad. I'm miserably, terribly, fucking-ass sad. Something inside feels like it...kind of cratered last week, so I have no defenses against even the mildest, stupidest everyday sort-of bullshit. I'm getting a zit! I can't find the nail clippers! Ezra only wants Daddy all the time and it hurts my feeeeeeelings. A kid was mean to Noah and I'm the one who burst into tears. Folding laundry dissolves into a fit about gaining weight and clothes not fitting and WHY BOTHER, MAN. WHY EVEN BOTHER.
I wish they sold Xanax or something over the counter, because I can't even deal with getting my ass in to see a doctor. I had a mole removed last week and the effort nearly killed me. I'm supposed to get my hair done in a couple days and I'm all, "I don't want to goooooo, the receptionist is always so chatttttttty." I'm supposed to be planning a birthday party for the boys like, RIGHT NOW but instead I've decided to downsize the current goal to: "Get to the store and buy a package of cookies to send to school on Noah's birthday."
His birthday is on Thursday. I have like, two-and-a-half more days to make the cookies happen. I CAN DO IT. I BELIEVE IN MYSELF! AND IN MY ABILITY TO OUTSOURCE THINGS TO MY HUSBAND.
But I know nobody wants to hear about how sad I am. (SPOILER ALERT: Pretty sad!) Sad is boring! Sad is such a bummer! Sad is just begging for someone to come around and whack me with a dose of I-HAVE-IT-WAY-WORSE-THAN-YOU style perspective, like a sock full of pennies. Plus I sense that this whole "grief process" thing has yet another violent mood swing in store for me ANY MINUTE NOW.
So instead, I'm just going to try to post about the little things that manage to cut through the sad and make me rethink that life plan of going back to bed with a bottle of Syrah and a bendy straw.
Today's thing: Glow-in-the-dark skeleton jammies.