Fear and Self Loathing in Chicago

Let me tell you about my day. It’s not pretty, I warn you.
When I got home from work, I grabbed the mail. Noticed the bill for the car payment, set it aside. Then I was startled by a scary though, and I even said it aloud, “Did I forget to pay that?” Tore it open to find that yes, I did indeed forget to pay the car last month. Commence heart palpitations. Check online bank activity and find that after a bunch of “extras”, I didn’t even HAVE the money left to pay it. Move to second stage heart attack. Send husband a message telling him I’m a loser and obviously shouldn’t be responsible for anything concerning money, then call the finance company. Work out a plan, disaster averted. I beat myself up (figuratively, not literally) for the next few hours. I’ve made some money mistakes lately, and I’m quite ashamed. I’m a MOM for Pete’s sake (and who is Pete, anyway?) and it’s my job to do these things, and to do them well. DH was a gem about it all. He said it’s too much responsibility for one person, and that handling the family finances is like having a second job. Didn’t make me feel any better though.
On to the disaster that is dinner. I decide to make spaghetti because I have no strength left to make anything complicated. Fill a large pot with water, set it on the stove, and two minutes later the kitchen is filled with an acrid smell. A HA! Same thing happened last week and I went crazy looking for the source, thinking my house was about to burn down. The Ikea pot is the culprit. So I toss that and decide to pull out a frozen veggie lasagna instead. Should take an hour, so says the package. An hour and a half later it’s still frozen in the middle, hubby and kids are starving. Feed them some quick convenience food while I patiently wait for the stupid lasagna. Why didn’t I just take a slab and toss it in the microwave, you ask? Because I was stressed and irrational, that’s why. Finally it’s done! I take it out with my new bright yellow pot holders. Cut it, serve myself, take a bite…. And promptly spit it in the trash. My husband (who was a little frightened of me at this point) asked me what’s wrong. It’s in-fucking-edible! I scream say. He hugs me and offers to make a run out to pick up food for me. I say no. Grab a French bread pizza from the freezer. Had I not learned my lesson with frozen food yet? Now, hubs had just cleaned the inside of the microwave and it was sparkly clean. So I threw the pizza bread in and tossed a paper towel over the little cooking tray thingie. 2 minutes later I find that the paper towel baked right into the damn thing. So I throw it away, grab another and try again, sans paper towel. Clean microwave be damned! 2 more minutes later I have the world’s worst tasting pizza bread. After three bites (hey, I was starving) I threw that away. Hubs tucks in the little kiddies, probably reassuring them that Mommy is not insane, just a little frazzled. I follow him upstairs to watch the second part of The Andromeda Strain on TV. I sit on the couch, totally defeated, and still hungry. It’s almost 10pm. Again, that nice man I married offered to go out and get me something to eat, or to get me a bowl of cereal, or anything that would make me stop cursing and throwing food away. Again, I said no. Told him not to worry, I was going to have a simple bowl of soup, for which I’d already started the water (in a safer pot this time) About ten minutes later, I went downstairs to throw in the veggies and pasta…. Only to find I’d forgotten to turn on the stove. WTF! I made a cup of tea and went back upstairs. Obviously I wasn’t meant to eat.
PMS now at lethal levels. Watch out, world.

I won’t bother to tell you the good things, because they’re just not that funny. But I assure you, there’s plenty of good. I live with 3 great guys, we'll start with that. They're funny and they like me. One of my aunts will be in town this weekend, which is cool, since I rarely see her. Got a call from an old friend today and made lunch plans for Sunday. I get to see my darling little godson on Saturday for a few hours, and I’m pretty happy about that. The sun rose this morning, as planned. Hey, it’s all good. Until dinner…

Wordless Wednesday

I'm Afraid of ...

The Dentist.
Not just a little afraid. Panic attack afraid. Hyperventilate kind of afraid.
The last time I saw a dentist was 5 years ago. Does that give some hint about how uncomfortable I am with the dental care industry? I've made 2 appointments recently, and canceled both. You see, the bastards kind people that schedule the appointments give you a date somewhere between 6 weeks and 16 months from the day you call. So, I make my appointment, but then something else comes up in those 16 months and I can't make it.
I'm not sure which is worse - being afraid to see a dentist, or being afraid that if I don't, my teeth will fall out and I'll be doing commercials for Fixodent when I'm 35.