I haven't been arrested. I wasn't detained in Mexico. I didn't go on a drunken binge (I don't think). My girlfriend and I decided to leave town and on the way we accidentally killed an abusive loser in a bar parking lot; thus beginning a girl-power road trip across the country, chased by the police, ending only after a crazy drunken night in a fleabag motel with a hitchhiker who looked amazingly like Brad Pitt (90s married to Jennifer Aniston cute Brad Pitt, not scruffy, looks like he got hepatitis from Billy Bob via Angelina Jolie), and I think we gave it all up to soar to our death across a cavern in a convertible, clutching hands, best friends to the end......
Okay, fine. That didn't happen, either. I don't think. Life is so crazy when you're getting ready to move. Again. Across the country. Again. With kids and pets. AGAIN. Yes, it is a totally wanted and initiated move by us, but it is still a move, a big ass move. In the meantime, my job has been ridiculously unpredictable. My sleep has been that of a med student, literally grabbing whatever couple of hours here and there I can as I try and wait for my work to pick up (or even SHOW up). I don't know if it's day or night. I don't know what day of the week it is. I don't even know what month it is. I think it's still 2010, but I'm not willing to sign anything legal about that.
In the meantime, my son cut off all his hair & I don't recognize him every time he walks in the room, my 20-year high school reunion is coming up this summer and I'm supposed to attend but I don't even know how I'm going to get all of my kids to soccer practices this season, and I'm trying to lower the number of pets I have to move this time by pure hope (as in I hope one will sneak out the door I left open purely by accident). Oh yeah, and did I mention my husband is leaving me? Fine, it's only temporary, but as Kenny Rogers (the King of Country, not Chicken) said so well, "You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille...."
