You ever have that morning where you’re trying to arrange some art for your walls because you have a whole mess of people coming over to see your not-finished house this weekend and you pull out a frame that you like but you don’t like the picture in said frame so you dig through a pile of boxes to find the tin of pictures in the hopes of locating a better photo but you stub your toe in the process and after you finally find the tin of photos you knock over your water and bean your cranium as you flop into the chair and you manage not to get teary or sniffle despite all those bruises but then you come across a photo of your dead cat and you’re suddenly crying hysterically?
This is hormones, right? RIGHT?
And there’s just something sort of unsettling about an earthquake AND a hurricane in the same week. And I don’t know why I’m so upset about Steve Jobs, but I am. And for some reason that Kardashian bitch went and got married and now she’s ruining all my guilty-pleasure celebrity mags.
And I’m really not looking to sit and wallow in this sensation indefinitely, so I need to snap myself out of it.
So…rather than keep faking it this week, Imma just run and hide. I think there’s something therapeutic about repetitive, mindless projects – like painting walls, sanding furniture, sewing, or playing with power tools atop of ladders. Lord knows we’ve got about nine hundred more of those type projects to tackle before Saturday. And that snicker salad isn’t going to make itself. So I’m just going to throw myself into that for a few days. Ignore the news. Read only the arts section of the paper. Listen to some Justin Timberlake. Finish this house stuff while I can still bend. (Though, to be fair, “bend” is a pretty optimistic word.) And take a few days off from blogging.
I reckon I’ll be back Tuesday. Unless I come across an epic video of unicorn cats playing ukuleles. I’ll post that immediately. Because obviously.