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Happy Birthday, Molly. I can only hope my own daughter grows up to have your ideals, integrity and passion for everything you do. This is going to be your year.
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Business first. The winner of the Guess the TV Theme contest (chosen completely at random by my kids) is Leia. She wins, for her efforts, a copy of Saturday Morning Cartoons Greatest Hits, featuring the likes of the Butthole Surfers doing the Underdog theme. And of course, as one QOD ends another begins. Today the topic is otherwordly experiences. Go share.
I've decided to rate my mood for the day in road rage terms. Today's possibility for a road rage incident (on a scale of 1-5): 4.
I'm in avoidance mode. I have things that need my immediate attention this week but I can't seem to bring myself to take care of them. I keep staring at the pile of paperwork for the reading program, hoping some elves will come in the night and take care of it, but it never happens. It's a very busy week, with a lot of papers and phone calls and projects and important things that need to be crossed off my to-do list, but it's gotten to the point of overload so I did what I do best when the warning button is going off...I shut down.
So right now, those papers don't exist. The phone calls don't need to be made. I'm oblivious. And there's a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I am going to pull my usual stunt and save it all for the last possible second and the run around like a lunatic trying to get everything done in time. And it will get done. And it will get done right and it will end up looking effortless.
And therein lies the problem. Because everything ends up looking like it took so little effort on my part to complete with success, I get asked to do these things again and again as if it's no big deal to me. I've had enough of that. It's time to come clean. Monday morning, when the reading program launches without a hitch and everyone pats me on the back and tells me what a great job I've done and how organized I am, I am going to go ballistic. I am going to scream and shout and cry and tell them that it was not easy, it was not without a lot of effort and hair pulling, and god damn it, this whole thing would have been a lot less stressful if had some fucking help! And then I will storm out and swear on a stack of children's books that I will never, ever chair a committee again, I will never volunteer for anything again, I will never even attend another meeting, leaving myself open to being suckered into doing something on this big a scale again. Not gonna happen.
I am not throwing any more parties at work. Not for your babies or your retirement or your wedding. I am not taking on your extra work while you take the week off to recuperate from a hangover. I am not going to drive your kids to and from every event and end up feeding them and helping them with their homework anymore. I will not, at ten oclock on a Sunday night, scan the math homework for your child and then run it over to your house because you can't come out because you are already in your pajamas. I am not going to pick up your slack. I am not going to volunteer for your committee. I am not going to call your wife to break the news to her that you signed up to work on a holiday and I am not going to run out to your car in the pouring rain because you left your lights on and you don't want your expensive suit to get wet. I am not going to say yes ever again.
And well, fuck me. Natalie's birthday party is Thursday night. How the hell did that just slip my mind? How the hell did it get to be the end of February already?
I just want the world to stop for a few minutes, ok? I want some time for me. I want everyone and everything to stand still while I take a hot bath and listen to silence and feel what it's like to be blessedly alone. I want five minutes to do what I want to be doing, not what someone else thinks I should be doing. I want a day without obligations and a moment without pressure. I want a night with a full, dead sleep and no dreams. I want peace and tranquility and the knowledge that there is absolutely nothing pressing on my plate. I want inner fucking peace.
Shit, I meant to just write about the raccoon that lives in my backyard. Don't know where that all came from. And yes, I know I'm not the only person that feels like that. As a matter of fact, I'd say about 90% of you reading this know exactly how I feel. So yea, I'm singing to the choir. But at least it's a choir that knows my song. Let's all sing along.