My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.



You will pardon me if I make no sense today. I probably shouldn’t even bother to post this. If sentences don’t end, it phrases just into nothingness, consider it simply a symptom. I dunno. Maybe this weird fuzzy headedness, this sad depression is my own fault. Because I chose to read a depressing book by someone who killed herself shortly after its publication. Someone with small children (was that part of the problem? No, the urge had clearly already been there.). Somehow I’m having a really, really hard time imagining killing yourself and leaving two very, very small children behind. On the other hand, I totally get it. I’ve been almost there before. But still.


God, my head hurts. Some of this is just a weird sinus headache. The two cups of coffee I drank (my normal amount) feel like twenty. My body is buzzing like I could almost levitate in my chair if I tried hard enough. Really what I want to do is just allow gravity to take over and fall out of my chair and sleep under my desk all day. It’s not as if I’m able to concentrate well enough to do any meaningful work. Good thing this isn’t a data entry day or I’d really be screwed. I’d freeze up and stare at the blinking cursor until everyone left for lunch. And came back. And left for home. And then I’d forget to pick the kids up. Which is one of my big “bad mommy” fears. For all I know, this would be the day I left someone strapped in a car seat. I mean, the temperature was already over 70 this morning when we left the house. If I didn’t have the distinct memory of everyone in the daycare building asking Red about her birthday and admiring her new outfit, I wouldn’t be surprised to go out later and find her dead body still in the seat.

And I know Dusty got to the right place – this is the beginning of summer session which means daily pool play and swimming lessons. I distinctly remember leaving Dusty in the arms of Miss Ellen. I remember looking over all the pool related rules and lists of “must brings” for each child – all of which needs to be LABELED WITH THEIR NAME (god forbid it should all just vaporize in a puff of nameless, no-nametag dust if I neglect that detail) – and I came across Red’s list which requires that I bring – ALL LABELED – on Friday: swimsuit, swim shoes, swimmer diapers (which are what, fucking $12 a piece?), and a small tower.

A what? What in the hell is a small tower? What does that have to do with swimming? Is this some play device? Some swimming lesson thing even though Red won’t get swimming lessons? Even when she moves up to the two year old class next week?

I swear I wracked my brain all damn weekend trying to figure out what kind of small tower Red would need.

When I asked this morning, her teacher said, “Towel. Just a small one.”

FUCKING HELL! How had I not realized this was a TYPO? Because all the damn notes and documents almost always have typos and spelling errors (which, of course, I notice with clenched teeth each and every time because that’s just me and I like to worry and be annoyed by stupid unimportant shit like that)! I even went so far as to correct the other mistake – on the sheet that no one but me will see – “Please LABEL ALL Your child things.” Meaning, of course, “your (no capitalization needed, thank you) child’s things.” Apostrophe-fucking-s! Twice this mistake is made on the sheet. Twice I anally correct it like the English teacher I never became.

DAMN! A goddamn small TOWEL.

Could I BE any stupider? Not bloody likely. Could I be anymore wrought up? Is that even how you spell “wrought”? The red squiggly lines (Oh, MS Word is so incredibly helpful, don’t you think?) didn’t appear underneath so that must be right.

Yeah, it’s one of those days. Wouldn’t it be easy to just...disappear? Get in the car and see how far a half a tank of gas would get me (not very)?

Instead, let’s try to focus on the past weekend. Which may be how the trouble started. No, the trouble started back in 1966. Yes, that’s the problem right there. But I digress.

Friday – got that whole long list of things done. Fucking grocery store, which I otherwise love because they sell all the organic/vegetarian foods I need and take my groceries to my car, didn’t have one very crucial item: a bag of absolutely pedestrian balloons. Mylar balloons and floral bouquets they got out the yin-yang. Regular blow-em-up-yourself balloons? Forgetaboutit! So, though I was already running late, I had to make a detested visit to the dollar store (god those places depress the hell out of me – maybe THAT’S where this started! – all that cheap useless crap that people in other countries spend their lives making for no good reason). Bought the damn balloons so that Red could enjoy the thrill of playing with a roomful of them. She hasn’t bit or popped even one yet. Progress. And of course, everyone was starving. Dusty had stayed home with Daddy and the grandparents had arrived that afternoon, arms loaded with presents (and a Radio Flyer wagon that was put together while I was, thankfully, not there) and enough guilt to choke a horse, and I entered with hungry Red and melting food. Popped the not-so-frozen-anymore pizzas into the oven. Food was eaten. Horse cake (which turned out pretty well – thanks! Pictures will be posted soon) made and iced. Grandparents left. Children put to bed.

Saturday – successful party for Red. Many presents (Dusty wrapped about twenty thousand books and stuffed animals from her own collection for Red and then “helped” her unwrap them all) were doled out. Hedgehog footstool thing was frolicked upon. Cake and ice cream was eaten. I was given a number of envelopes for my own upcoming birthday (no, that’s where it starts and ends). Now I can afford to attend the writer’s conference in the fall. Ever been so desperate for money that you drove to the bank on a Sunday night to deposit them so they’d be posted bright and early the next morning? If you said “yes,” then you’d be me. One nice thing: my youngest sister gave me a certificate for free babysitting whenever I can drag my sorry-ass husband out to see the new Johnny Depp pirate movie (mmmm, Johnny Depp).

You know,, maybe I’ll talk about it tomorrow. I just don’t have it in me to go on and on about anything else now. I really need to be getting some work done instead of prattling on here, casting my thoughts out to…no one. Boring you (or no one) with thoughts I can’t even process yet much less put into words. Words that need to be typed out in order to exist. And I’m having a hard time with that today though you’d never guess it by the amount I’ve managed to type already.

If a thought escapes your head but is never verbalized, does it actually exist?

Shit if I know.

Sorry to waste your time.

Are you still here?

I said, off with you! I’ve got stuff to do.



11:27 a.m. ::
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