Also, I'm finding it harder and harder to sleep at night (and don't know why). I go to bed at 12:00 to 2:00-ish, and still I sit bolt upright in bed, wide-awake at anywhere from 5 to 6 a.m. . . . Generally still in the panicked grip of a fierce and grisly nightmare that is only just starting to fade. It has become, excuse the pun, 'tiring.' ;) The reason I am sharing this is because I'm afraid that I might be ('possibly'. . .JUST 'POSSIBLY') prone to have some unpredictable and little bitchy outbursts today, and I am endeavoring valiantly to head them off at the pass. =)
(I would like to add here, PURELY in the interest of honesty and integrity, that it is NORMALLY my dearest one bitching at me. His favorite personal subject is that of my smoking. He had stopped the daily lectures for a while there . . . but now he's returned full-force, which I can only imagine is the same way in which Sylvester Stallone returns in 'The Expendables 2.' (And I only say 'I can only imagine' because I CAN ONLY IMAGINE. Because I would rather be pummelled by drug-crazed Pandas, carrying firearms, with nothing left to live for, and looks of grim resignation on their adorable and deadly little faces than EVER have to sit through that smoking loaf of the pony. You are ALL already QUITE rich. So for the love of God---just stop.
And YES. I KNOW that smoking is bad for me! But I'm having a rough go of it at the moment, and evil though they may be, they also make me feel (a measure) better. And I KNOW that he only bitches so PASSIONATELY about it is just because he's worried about me. And I understand that. However. Though this may be flawed logic, and feel free to disagree: Women live longer than men. That is a FACT. *I* don't want to be left here alone without him. Not ever. So I guess I just prefer to think about it as levelling the playing field, so to speak. Long paragraph short: I WILL quit smoking. But it will NOT be today.)
So to sum up so far: I'm not having a super-awesome day, I am stressed about money, and a million other things, I am worried about my husband, and I am a little depressed. As you readers should well-know by now, this is NOT a new, or even a unique, occurrence for me.
But I know now, not only from personal conversations with friends and family, or just the sheer number of people occupying shrink's offices these days (like so much cattle), that I am FAR from alone in this. I won't die from it. (It just feels like it sometimes.) But I am fairly awesome. And I can even be brave. . . when I have to be.
And, whether I like it or not, it will most likely happen again. So I have decided to compose a list of all the odd, and oddly effective, things I do to try to steer away the 'Mean Reds.'
First off, I ALWAYS watch the opening theme to the old 80's cartoon show, The Gummi Bears. (This was a GREAT cartoon, by the way. If you've never seen it? Go out and buy that first season. It is a decision that you will NOT regret, my friend. (You'll thank me later.) Spoiler alert: The secret really was in the Gummi Berry juice. But those bears were warriors. WARRIORS!!!!)
(Those are, in fact, the MINIMUM number of Duckies required to be by our tub at all times. It was a law that I was completely unclear on, and in fact completely unaware of. Devin swore it was true. But he still has yet to produce the paperwork.)
other members of the family have expressed rather dissimilar attitudes. And THAT is when I say, in my MOST snooty tone (and I can manage a pretty good 'Snoot'), "It's called 'CULTURE', family. Look it up!" (It is roughly the exact opposite of eating dinner on trays while curled up on the couch, watching t.v. and checking your facebook every 7 1/2 minutes.) (*And I'm looking at you, here Michael.*)
But I have learned that it is just incredibly difficult to look very 'snooty' when you are lying in a bubble bath, and bathing with a Winnie the Pooh bath puppet. (Sidenote: I LOVE that Pooh-puppet. He just seems so. . . HAPPY to be helping get me clean. =)
. . . . . . o.0
Wait. He could . . . not be as innocent as he seems. . . .EVERYONE has a secret. Could he be a. . . puppet-perv? . . .?? . . .Great. Now I can't use the Pooh puppet again until this whole ugly mess has been sorted out. . . Guess I'll just resort to the Toy Story wash cloths. (They make me happy, too, and will do, in a pinch.)
Gummi Bears and Pooh puppets aside, I find that Christmas lights make me feel good. Very happy. =) I strongly suggest that you try it.