You tell me.

Are the installers supposed to be so rough with the hardwood before it's installed? They keep dumping entire boxes in a piles on the floor all willy nilly... and not with a lot of care or concern. Um. Yeah. I'm about two seconds from opening my big mouth. And they're already icy at me for opening my jaw hole up earlier.

Ripping up the carpet (so long, carpet, nice knowing ya), they discovered a ten inch gap of concrete at one of the thresholds. They basically dropped their tools and were all like "Hey, man, we just install floors. You gotta get that fixed before we can start." I said the hell we do. You rip that carpet up, misters, while I figure out wtf we're going to do.

So they're installing the floors and just leaving a raw edge at that particular threshold. Probably not the ideal scenario for all parties involved, but we've got family coming in this weekend. This weekend. As in this weekend. Things were supposed to run smoothly. This was not in the plan. And, unfortunately, we don't have time to deviate much from that plan, which was to have the floors done by tomorrow. See? Concrete. Not in the plan. Plus we have a two year old running around who would LOVE to play around on a sub floor full of staples and nails. No thanks.

What we're going to do about the gap, I have no clue. Life is so awesome.

Not sure I care any more.

Is plain English really that hard to understand? Is logic just too illogical for some people? Please, somebody let me know. That way, I won't have to keep wasting my breath.

(un)Free Bird

I ran into the pet store to get cat food yesterday. After grabbing a small bag of the Science Diet mature adult hairball formula, I was heading up the main aisle toward the registers when I heard a songbird singing. It seemed so out of place. Surely there couldn't be a songbird in here, this building with four walls and a concrete floor. Don't songbirds, or any other birds for that matter, belong in trees?

I followed the sound, as if being led by the pied piper, to a row of bird cages. And there they were. I couldn't tell which one had been singing, but it didn't matter, really, because they had succeeded in getting me where they wanted me--to be their witness. They had stopped singing once I stepped in front of the cages. It was time now to plead their case. They all stared at me anxiously, waiting to see what I'd do. Surely I could understand their plight. Oh, the injustice of being trapped in a cage! Can't I see the absurdity? Of putting a price on the ultimate symbol of freedom? Freedom doesn't cost $16.99. It's priceless, you see.

I just stood there. Eyes cast to the floor. Heart full of sadness. Visions of myself opening the cages and letting them all out running through my head that would never happen in reality. I knew it. And they knew it. Silence. Then, as if to say, "It's okay... it's not your fault" a small Waxbill sang. I whispered, "sorry" and left. My lunch hour was quickly coming to an end. I had to get back to the office.

As I was leaving the aisle I saw a woman with her child and dog in tow. I don't think she had intended to go down the aisle with the birds, but once she heard them singing in unison, she, like I, could not resist. I wondered then, as she turned down the aisle and I headed to the front, would she be the savior they are singing for?

Tap, tap. Is this thing still on?

Here. Let me wipe off some of the dust for you. *pat, pat* Sit down. I know it’s been a while. I’m sorry. Not really, but sort of.

I don’t even know what to say. I know what I want to say, what I always say: A seemingly endless stream of obscenities and complaints. It’s who I am, I guess. Do I like being this way? Sometimes, but mostly not. And I’ll tell you what, keeping up a good front that I’m not this way is exhausting.

Do you ever feel like there are so many things you want or have to do that it’s just completely overwhelming? Like you can’t even think about it because you’re brain will start smoking, implode, catch on fire and then explode? But really, you don’t have any more or less responsibility than any other working wife/mother/human being out there? Please tell me I’m not the only one. I’m begging you. Am I the only one?

It’s sad that I could not post for, oh, about five months and then when I suddenly get a wild hair and do, I have absolutely nothing new to post about. It’s just the same old shit, different day. Or at least that’s how it feels. It’s depressing. Especially when I have some much in my life that should be making me happy.

That last statement made this question pop into mind: How long after you give birth can post partum depression hit? You know what, though? I don’t think that’s it. My son is about the only thing that makes me happy these days. Of course, he tries my patience on a daily basis, but if I were to be stranded on a desert island, he’d be the number one thing I’d take with me. Cake being second and… and… See, I don’t even have a third. Unless you count my husband. Pathetic.

Back to this “not having enough time” thing. Is this really legitimate? Or do I do this to my self? Do I set too many goals so that it’s just not possible to achieve even one of them? Here’s my current To-Do list:

TO DO LIST

Clean out garage
Clean out basement
Start putting together studio
Order Bruno table lamps
Put up photos around house
Paint for spare room
Do a budget
Ask about basement contractor
Schedule M's well visit (24 mo.)
Take down bedroom border
Send donation to Paws for Life
Go to Secretary of State
Stop automatic debits from insurance co.


House stuff:
Hand towels
Storage cabinet (IKEA)
Trivets
Pillow

Not too bad, right? Then wtf is the problem? Sometimes I think it’s this pain-in-the-ass job, and if I could have all day to accomplish what I want to accomplish, I’d accomplish it. Honestly, though, I don’t even know if having those extra eight or so hours would make a difference right now. For one, they’d be spent catering to and caring for my kid. For secondly, you kind of need motivation to get things done. And I’m fresh out. I am basically using as little mental power as I can to get by these days. So I guess thank Jebus I’m not at home taking care of my son all day. He’d be screwed.

Yes. As little as possible. So don’t even get me started on the business of keeping a clean house. There are two things I think about obsessively. Cleaning my house and losing weight. Note, however, that I don’t have the motivation or will power to do either. Well, I do make myself clean the house, but losing weight, forget about it. That would involve exercise! And feeling good about myself! And eating right! And God knows I don’t have the mental capacity to plan and coordinate all that. My brain power is strictly devoted to whipping myself into a frenzy about cleaning the house. Because it can’t just be clean. It must be CLEAN. Like scrubbing from morning until night madwoman screaming and on the verge of tears clean. And millions more tears on the inside because there was only exactly 3.2 seconds where the house was clean before Bulldozer and Bulldozer Jr. plow through and mess it all up. And it really wasn’t even clean by my standards anyway. No, that would take a good three to five days, maybe even a week, to be my standard of clean. Mostly I just settle for good enough because there’s no way I’ll ever get a solid chunk of interrupted time to clean it the way I’d like. And then what would be the point? Because it would get dirty again. You know, because we live there. And living is messy. How’s that for profound thought, bitches?

So. Yeah. Any one got some motivation lying around I could borrow? Anti-depressants would work, too.

Ho humming along.

First let me say that I real-l-l-l-y don’t want to be here today. Here being work. That old I Could Totally Be Doing Something Better Than This Crap feeling is starting to creep in again. Could have something to do with not really having much work, fulfilling or busy, to do right now. Could have something to do with the fact that our clients’ ad budgets are drying up faster than we can blink. I guess I should be worried, but compared to the other agencies in D-town, I’m under the impression that somehow ours is doing relatively well amidst this shitty economy. An impression that is probably totally false, but one I continue to hold on to because I can’t quite bring myself to face the truth. In fact, I’ve had my head in the sand over this economy business for a good six months now. I just can’t go there. I have too much other stuff taking up space in my brain.

Things like, for instance, how I have become a soccer mom. Although little d doesn’t play soccer (yet), all I need is the fucking mini-van to make my little Stepford life complete. I can’t remember the last time I came home buzzed and giddy from a night out. I think the last time was this past October. But I’m not sure that really counts because we went to see a band with my brother and sister-in-law and I really didn’t get to cut loose (that much). My SIL did, but sadly, I was too busy being worried that my MIL was feeding little d to many marshmallows and cookies all night. Instead of going home, I actually spent the night at my parent-in-laws’ house so I could be there when little d woke up. So, yeah, there you go. I’m that mom.

I guess I can’t really say it’s a Stepford life. God knows my house isn’t always (ever) white glove clean. I don’t stay home with 2.5 kids. And I definitely don’t have a meat-and potatoes-dinner on the table every night. I guess maybe I’m referring to the predictability of my life at this point. Maybe I just need a tropical vacation. Okay, maybe not tropical. The world is going to hell in a hand basket. Can’t go on a cruise without mysteriously going missing. Can’t fly without worrying you’ll drop out of the sky. So I guess that pretty much means going on vacation somewhere in the good old U.S. of A. Somewhere we could drive. And that means blowing up to six days in a car just to have four days of relaxation. Four days? Not enough time, my friends. Not enough time at all.

Anyway. I just got some busy work to do. So my deep thoughts will have to be put on the back burner. At least for this afternoon.

IFB!

Because It's Friday, Bitches! and I needed a change.

Excuse me a moment while I feel sorry for myself.

Okay, Life. You win. You beat me. My spirit is officially broken. Game over. That bounce in my step? Gone. The bright side of things? Light’s out. I won’t be giving you any more trouble. I’ll just go ahead and keep my mouth shout from now on. Because, you don’t really want to hear it, do you? What you really want is for me to just follow along without question.

You got it.