Me. Throwing a Tantrum.

Has it really been ten days without blogging? Really? Well, no wonder I’m crabby. It’s certainly not for lack of topics. I could blog about any number of things, which is why I haven’t blogged about anything. I’ve been too busy curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth. I do this when I’m stressed.

Actually, that’s not an accurate description. A more accurate description is I put on an old pair of pajamas, put my hair up, take off my makeup and then I schlep around my house, open the refrigerator and just stare—trying to will food to appear. That’s how I handle stress, by general schlepping and staring. I’m like a Tennessee Williams heroine that way.

Here’s what’s got me acting like a crazy lady: (AKA stuff on my mind.)


Last week I couldn’t walk in Kendall’s graduation. Even though they cashed my rental check for the gown, somehow it didn’t appear. One of the professors said, “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s not personal.” Today I got an email saying that I wasn’t qualified to be interviewed for the full-time teaching position. I can teach there full-time and fill in where they need me, but for a sustained job with benefits, I’m not good enough. Talk about a blow to the ego. Beyond a blow to the ego. That’s a karate chop to the groin.


I’ve been narrating for two weeks straight. Three books. This means driving an hour there and back every day, through crazy construction, while trying to take care of my two kids and cook decent food and make sure I’m there for them. It’s sucked up entire days and brain cells. This isn’t a complaint exactly. I love narrating and being inside a book…I just wish that the timing had been different.


Went mushroom hunting this weekend. It was great, but sucked up my entire weekend from book prep and prepping for the next class that (apparently) I’m not qualified to teach. It took 3 ½ hours to get up there and another 3 ½ back. On the plus side, I had a great time with the kids and remembered why I love my family and the woods and the lake.


Just had a conversation with Biff. We’re having a mini-vacation this weekend. Basically, I need to get away before I explode, Monty Python character style. Then he asked (half-jokingly) if I were his girlfriend. He doesn’t really like the term girlfriend because it sounds teenage-y. But then, what do you say? “Here’s the person I’m involved with”? That sounds medical. “Here’s the girl I’m seeing”? No soul to that. “Here’s the person I have fantasies about and occasionally sleep with”? Hmmm. That’s nice, but doesn’t quite cover it, and it leaves too much interpretation as a booty-call only. I told him to think about it and see what he comes with. Translation: Yes. I’d like to be his girlfriend but only if it’s because he wants, specifically, me…and not because I’m currently the only option. If that’s the case, if he’s got feelings for, specifically, me…then I’m just fine with the teenage term. Let other people be uncomfortable with it. I’d be too busy giggling to care.


I have three grants to write for nonprofits that I support and no time to do it.


I can’t feel my toes. This isn’t a medical concern. It’s because I remember the scene in Die Hard where Bruce Willis walks on his toes to give himself a massage and I tried that to relax, but then my foot cramped. Further proof that I’m old…maybe even too old to be a girlfriend.


I left my cell phone charger up north. I'm about to lose power in 3, 2, 1....


And did I mention I didn’t get interviewed for the dream job I’m currently in? You know, the one I’m doing but am not qualified for? Oh. Yeah. I did mention it.

Sorry for the bitch fest here, but seriously, sometimes a girl gets so overwhelmed she can’t even breathe. And by girl, I mean me. I mean I’m overwhelmed. And now entirely freaked out about this mini-vacation I’ve planned.

Breathe breathe breathe.

I think I’ll walk around talking in Southern accent for a while. That always helps Tennessee Williams characters. That and saying “I am so hot. Boy, is it hot in here.”