I'm sitting here at the computer a bit peeved that I'm up so early. I feel heavy in my body so while my mind is awake (partially) the rest of my feels like it was plucked from sleep a few cycles too soon. Sigh. I just really want this day to be over with already. I feel like I need one of those beautifully giftwrapped mornings where the sun, a lucent overripe peach with beautiful blush shades, throws its gilded rays into the clouds. The clouds answer the sun's song with a chorus of soprano pinks, alto reds and yellows, a whisper of tenor blue, a baritone gray dotted with resplendent silvery flecks. I need that morning.
Instead, my morning was a cacophony of dog barks, Thomas the Train songs, and "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" Sticky from falling asleep on the couch a-gain, groggy from being thrust abruptly from one realm of reality to another, fingertips wet with dog saliva (that's what I get for falling asleep on the couch), exhausted from my part time gig and all I really wanna do is hit the reset button on this day. Sigh. I feel like I'm wound too tight and I've been popping and snapping on people like a rubberband. I don't regret anything that happened the other day when I quit TOPS, but had it happened on another day in another plane of existence, I might not have called her a bitch. Might.
Take The Thing of Which I Will Not Speak bearing down on me, driving almost 1000 miles in a few days, and sending my Aunt Ida to that great big kegger in the sky and I think that you have a recipe for Not Quite Feeling Like Yourself casserole.
Not Quite Feeling Like Yourself casserole.2 cups of exhaustion
3 tablespoons of tears
a dash of bitters
4ozs of forced laughter, minced
2 teaspoons of family fued
1 glass of moscato
4 tanks of gas
1 lost wallet AND keys
1/4 cup of overcooked, overdry, and overgross funeral food.
Take all of the ingredients and put them into a blender on the highest setting.
Blend until mixed.
Dump it all in a pressure cooker and just see what happens.
I'll continue this later, yall.