You know how sometimes you’re feeling a little overwhelmed by life (okay, a lot), and then you volunteer to take dinner on Friday to someone who had surgery because hey, that person is way worse off than you. At least you can walk, right? Besides, service always makes you feel better.
And yes, you have plans for later that night, but that’s okay. You’ll fit it all in.
And then your plans fall through…but that’s okay, because now you have lots of time for compassionate service, even though you’re really bummed you don’t get to go out.
Then you talk to a friend who’s in the midst of a messy divorce and can’t afford a lawyer (yes, she’s looking into her pro bono options), and she has some paperwork she doesn’t understand, so hey, why doesn’t she come over Friday afternoon and the two of you can look at the papers together and see if you can at least figure out where she should start. If nothing else, the kids can play together and she can bitch for a while and that’ll be good.
Then you find another group of friends going out to dinner Friday night, and you think HEY, I COULD HAVE FUN! Which is good, because you’ve burst into tears in front of your children at least three times this week. Never a good sign.
Friday morning starts with a screaming, shrieking, thrashing fit from the 6-year-old and copious whining from the 3-year-old. This is followed by the mid-morning grocery store trip from outer darkness and the early afternoon mini-breakdown (yours, not theirs), because you spilled your Dr. Pepper (precious nectar from the Gods!) and oh my hell can you at least get the groceries put away before the whiny demands start?!
My kitchen is a mess and I haven’t even started cooking the meal that I won’t be eating because I’m blowing this joint and spending the evening far, far away. My friend hasn’t come over yet, and I’m worried that she’ll call at 3:30 and want to drop by to discuss weighty legal matters and I just don’t have the time, but she really needs a friend and I’m the idiot who said she could come over.
Yeah, I’m writing in run-on sentences. It’s that kind of day. You know, the kind of day where I don’t have time to sit down, but I do it anyway, because I have to write so my head doesn’t explode. At one point I had to put down a paring knife because one corner of my mind wanted to stab the 3-year-old with it. Shut up. 3-year-olds are inherently evil.
Also, I’m doing laundry, because I’m meeting new people tonight and clean clothes seem like a necessity. Also pretty makeup and hair that doesn’t stick out at funky angles. That doesn’t compound my stress at all. I’m excited to go out, but social anxiety blows.
So basically, this:
*Fauxhawk is totally a word. Suck it, WordPress.
**I KNOW. I totally rock the fauxhawk. I’m just as surprised as you are!
***Okay, I’m not. I rock pretty much every hairstyle I try. Except perms. I’d like that brain-wipe thing from “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” just so I can forget my middle school perms.
****Or “Men in Black.”
*****I mean I’d like the brain-wipe thing from “Men in Black,” not that I want to forget “Men in Black.” But you knew that, right?
******Enough asterisks! Must cook!