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.
have a mental margarita on me.
I’m gonna go ahead and pretend like you were talking to me on this post and take it as permission to wallow hard (not indefinitely) and quit faking it. Because Elly said so. 🙂
And the winner of the world’s longest run on sentence, goes to…*DRUM ROLL*…@BugginWord…*AND THE CROWD GOES
WILD!*
Loved it!!
Don’t go nuts trying to finish every little thing just because you’ve got company coming to see the house. The only thing that’s really essential is the snickers salad.
Sounds like you could use an entire mental bender. Also, I have been daydreaming that painting my den and hall will bring me out of my funk. Will it? I’ll start immediately if it will.
Enjoy your break…remember, people are coming to see you. I mean, I think so.
First of all, I love the title of this post. I missed alcohol when I was pregnant. Sad but true. I have a lot of guilt-that’s why I think it is sad. I’m guessing most people wouldn’t. Anyway, moving on…um…have you heard of nesting, nesting theory, how people get an overwhelming urge to organize just before they GIVE BIRTH woman? How close are you, anyway? And finally, yes, it is all hormones. No worries. Now I have to go read the story of that girl, the one I almost killed, because, really, how could I not, and then I’ll go read nice guys finish last by andrea because I just want to make sure the two stories are not related because I’m totally anal like that. And it is not baby hormones. It’s “soon you will never have a period again but in the meantime let us drive you insane” hormones. Yes, almost as fun as baby hormones, but not quite. At least I am not cold.
Hey, hey you. Don’t worry about the hormones. You just concentrate on relaxing while you work. ….right? There’s some kind of joke here about whoremoans and relaxing while you work aka lying on your back, but I’m really to lazy to be all clever about it today.
I like your hair.
The only thing I clean with unrestrained vigor prior to company arriving is the underside of the toilet seat. You know that’s the first thing they check before they sit their ass down on the bowl.
Anyway, I’m feeling the Steve Jobs sadness too. Why is that do you think?
Well, that’s what happens when you invaginate.
Or it’s because babies are assholes when they start getting crowded so they start throwing shit overboard, like hormones and flibbertyjibbets.
You go have a KICK ASS weekend, revamp, feel better, and we’ll see ya next week! ((((hug)))
I think I came up with a mental movie for to enjoy with your mental margarita: It’ll star both Patrick Stewart and Neil Patrick Harris.
There isn’t too much of a plot because, c’mon, these guys don’t need one for it to be awesome.
Anyway, they’ll both play ukuleles (Neil’s idea but Patrick totally loves it). They start off fighting over a woman who will be played by you. They both insisted on it. It was the only way they’d get on board.
They’ll have to put their rivalry aside when Rod Stewart captures you & they have to join forces to rescue you & destroy him.
After that they both feed you snicker salad & play ukulele music to you.
The End.
Yep, and again yep. Have flopped in that chair many a time myself. I hearby pop a tissue-paper umbrella in your drinkie-poo. Enjoy. x