This is one of those posts that I’d like to just type out, no spaces, no capitalization, no spell check. I’m not doing that partly because, well, no one could read it and partly because I don’t need one more thing that is a mess right now.
Since getting back from San Francisco, or maybe since the beginning of summer, I just don’t have my shit together. The longer days should mean MORE time to get things done but NOTHING is getting done. I have so many unfinished projects and tasks and lists that I am in a perpetual state of playing catch up.
Also, my brain is swimming with random worries because why NOT think of EVERY possible BAD thing that MIGHT happen!
I haven’t reconciled my checkbook since May.
My kitchen floor is a never ending battle of crumbs and smears. Why bother getting on my hands and knees to mop when it’s just going to look like hell after the next meal? Maybe I should just start feeding the children dry, easily swept foods for every meal.
Speaking of meals, Ella has become the pickiest eater ever, preferring to eat yogurt, slightly green bananas (others get thrown on the already filthy kitchen floor), Club crackers, and raisins. She rarely eats meat or cheese and loves chucking her cup on the floor that inevitably spills ON THAT DAMNED KITCHEN FLOOR.
We have spiders and crickets and, OH MY FREAKING HELL, FLIES. I keep forgetting to call a bug man (hellooooo phone anxiety) and to buy a fly swatter.
I’m always exhausted.
My email inbox has about 25 unread items, all of which I should be answering right now instead of blogging about them. DUMB.
I went out with friends twice this weekend getting home very late both Friday and Saturday, leaving Tate at home to care for the kids. On Sunday I was so exhausted that I took an afternoon nap when the kids went down and had to reject Tate’s wagging eyebrows. I haven’t had time for my OWN HUSBAND.
We need to start recycling. I fear that I alone am contributing to the demise of our planet.
I am so tired of cleaning mud off of Carson’s shoes.
The toys. Oh the toys. They are everywhere. I want to box them all up and ship them AWAY.
I’ve never had any sort of stranger, nobody-should-touch-your-privates talk with Carson. He’s OVER two and a half, I suck. But if I do say something, what do I say to him?
I feel guilty that I got THE CAMERA.
I feel guilty that Tate misses Alabama and I just…don’t.
Taking Ella anywhere is like wrassling a wild monkey. Not fun. Actually Ella IS a wild monkey. Only sometimes fun, mostly into everything and trashing my BLEEPING KITCHEN FLOOR.
How do you clean tiled showers? Am I supposed to scrub the tiled walls all the way up to the ceiling?
I’m sitting here, griping on the computer. Rewording and deleting and spellchecking when I should be tackling SOMETHING on my to-do list.
Mamma Mia made my ears bleed and I thought I might have to claw out my eyeballs. (I really should write a post about that and not THIS). I will never look at Pierce Brosnan, 007 James Bond, Pierce Brosnan the same way again. *shudder*
I’ve gained 10 motherflacking pounds this summer.
My towels smell musty even after washing them in hot water. My dishwasher is possessed and doesn’t always start when you push the START BUTTON. User error? I DON’T THINK SO FRIGIDAIRE.
Okay, I’m done writing my list, though, this doesn’t nearly encompass the lazy, overwhelmed, stuck in limbo-ness that is my brain.
Am I really going to post this?