You know, I thought I was holding things together pretty well, considering. Sure, it’s been stressful, but I’m still standing. [Insert cheesy musical interlude here.] I wasn’t patting myself on the back, or anything, but I thought I was doing okay.
This morning, Otto got up before me, before his alarm, even, and I continued to lie in bed, dozing, until his alarm went off. And then I flopped my way over to his side of the bed and began beating about on his alarm clock, trying to figure out how to make it stop going WAH WAH WAH WAH. Nothing I did seemed to work. And Otto was in the bathroom. Finally—cursing and flailing—I turned on his lamp and with the added visibility continued pushing buttons and whacking his clock, and muttering about THIS DAMN CLOCK WON’T TURN OFF, which is where I was when he came out of the bathroom and pointed out that it was MY clock’s alarm that was going off.
I think that summarizes my current mental state pretty well.
So, uh, maybe go on over to Off Our Chest today to read some musings on handwriting, written when I was a little more together, and a little less confused by complicated objects like alarm clocks.