At least, it is according to thesaurus.com. And now that I know that, I can claim to be promiscuous for the first time in my life.
(Welcome to Woulda Coulda Shoulda! Now with more slutty!)
If I had a cohesive tale to tell you I would, because I’m an excellent sharer that way (perhaps it comes along with the promiscuity?), but the best I’m going to be able to muster right now is a few bits and pieces. This is my brain. This is stress. This is my brain on stress. Any questions? Not that there’s a damn thing I’ll do about it if you DO have questions, because today this is all I’ve got.
I love that so many people felt compelled to tell me that I will still need slippers in Georgia. Really? You mean it’s not 105 degrees there all year ’round? Golly. (See also: Math is hard.) I doubt I’ll require the LL Bean wicked good slippers there, however, but I thank you for your concern. I also thank you for your excellent suggestions; last night I broke down and wrapped the falling-apart slipper with duct tape. Pretty!
Remember the sad story of how I am nearly pantsless? I have been actively looking for jeans ever since I wrote that post. It’s HOPELESS. I even broke down and ordered three different styles from Eddie Bauer, reasoning that at least ONE of them should fit right. None of them fit. And today I ventured to the hated mall to return them to the store (so as not to have to pay return shipping) and guess what? The Eddie Bauer store is GONE. I know I don’t go to the mall very often (read: ever), but I think that was quite rude of them.
It had been a really long time since I heard from the crazy mother of my college boyfriend, and I thought I was finally rid of her. But no; today (not even my birthday! my soul must be CRYING OUT for guidance!) I received a missive in my inbox that was over-the-top even for her. It started out like this:
Are you there? It’s been so long since I’ve written you I can’t believe it. The years whoosh by and time seems irrelevant anymore. It’s only a human phenomena anyway, so I tell myself to keep working on that other word called eternity.
Yeah. Um. So, actually, the email address she wrote to no longer exists (this mail was forwarded to my new address), so I’m thinking maybe I never saw this mail. I’ve responded vaguely and politely for years and I think I’ve reached saturation. At this point I feel my options are to remain silent or just mail back: “PhenomenON. It’s a phenomenon, because phenomena is plural, and P.S. you are very kind but also nuts so please stop mailing me.”
I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop with Chickadee, and she was having such a good year that I got comfortable—too comfortable—and thought she was okay. Or maybe I was too busy dealing with Monkey’s issues. Or maybe she’s just gotten better at hiding things until she’s really in a dark place. I don’t know. What I do know is that a few days ago when I thought things we bad, it was just the tip of the iceberg.
I also know that Chickadee is rapidly reaching an age where I don’t feel entitled to put her problems on display, and so for the first time I’m left speechless. I have a strong and beautiful and sensitive daughter who is really struggling, more than any child should have to. I am doing what I can for her and then when she is asleep or with her dad I just put my head down and weep. And that’s all I can say, right now.
So when I was on the phone with Otto, hysterical, yesterday, about everything that’s going on here, I said, “I am going to need A LOT MORE SHOES,” as my lame attempt at a joke. You know; I’m stressed out, I like to shop, I like shoes? And any other man might’ve said, “Huh?” But because Otto is Otto and he is the perfect man for me, without missing a beat he replied, “If you were here I would buy you some shoes right now.”
Have you noticed that Chris still hasn’t gotten her computer fixed? Are you as put out about this as I am? I am SO annoyed about it by now that I had to call her today and complain. And so I opened the conversation much as you might expect: “Hi, it’s Mir, and I’m sorry to call your cell phone but I don’t think I have your home phone number and I needed to call you and say that I miss you and you should FIX YOUR FUCKING COMPUTER.” She was totally feeling the love.
I have killed five giant ants in my family room today. Where are they coming from? It’s twelve degrees outside. There are precious few benefits to a frigid winter, but one of them—which I consider an inalienable right of the winter months—is A BREAK FROM INSECTS. It’s January and ants are NOT ALLOWED. They must’ve missed the memo.
And the icing on the crap cake: It’s PTA newsletter time again!