Have you ever been dumped? You know that feeling, that empty, sad, heart-broken feeling right after somebody dumps you, when all you REALLY want to do is call them because they are what brings you comfort, but you know you can't because the whole point is that they no longer want you in their life? So you feel all weird and hollow and like you don't know what to do with yourself? That's exactly how I feel right now.
Except I haven't been dumped.
Everything is fine. B and I are wonderful, just had a lovely Saturday evening/early Valentine's Day extravaganza. I've been sick, so we went out for drinks and came home early where he made us a very nice dinner. We drank wine, I made chocolate lava cake. We watched "The Time Traveler's Wife." All was, and is, well. My family, as it has been for the past year, is intact, my friends are the same (as best I know--everyone is so busy I haven't talked to some of them that often as of late--CALL ME, RAY). Same old, same old.
Except my heart feels broken.
Why in the hell do I feel like this? What has made this come about? I'm an intuitive girl, I know myself rather well, yet I honestly have no idea what's causing this ache of mine. Let's take a quick review of just how normal life has been lately (minus the unusual amounts of snow, which do make me feel a bit out of sorts):
A LIST OF ALL THE REALLY NORMAL THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED TO ME LATELY, WHICH MAY NOT REALLY BE NORMAL TO OTHER PEOPLE BUT ARE ABSOLUTELY, COMPLETELY, TOTALLY NORMAL FOR ME BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW BY NOW THAT MY LIFE IS NOT NORMAL IN ANY WAY, SHAPE, FORM, OR STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL BE WHICH MEANS THAT I'VE JUST SAID "THE HELL WITH IT" AND ACCEPTED ABNORMAL AS MY NORMAL
1. Dental Hygiene is a plus~ Took the kids to the dentist on Friday morning. Turns out, this dentist has a WHOLE FREAKIN' PLAYPLACE in his office. Seriously. Like, one of those things you see at McDonald's with the big, enclosed slide and climbing apparatuses, all in the waiting room. The kids were thrilled. They ran amok, then Sutt came out while Bells stayed in the back and got her permanent teeth sealed. When she came out and it was time to go (nearly 3 hours later, mind you), he completely fell apart. MY SON CRIED BECAUSE HE HAD TO LEAVE THE DENTIST'S OFFICE. It took threats, bribery, and promises to return in six months just to get out of there alive. How sad is that? Pretty damn sad, I say. (Side note: nobody had any cavities.)
2. My in-laws are certifiably nuts~ The kiddos stayed with my in-laws Saturday night so that B and I could have a grown-up evening and the kids could go to church on Sunday morning at Main St. On Sunday we get a call from the FIL, saying he was concerned because Sutt slept in the same bed as Bells. Apparently, that's inappropriate. THEY ARE 4 and 6, FOR GOD'S SAKES. Suck it up and deal, in-laws. They like to snuggle. (And I'm from Tennessee, so they should just be glad that the kids aren't 18 and 20 and sleeping together, while engaged to be married.)
3. I keep getting texts from a cell number one digit off from mine telling me if I will "loan them 200 they will make it worth my while." I am tempted to call said number and say, "just how worth my while?" I mean, are we talking about babysitting my kids here? Because I'll take that deal, yo. Fold my infinite piles of laundry? Sold. Sew the missing buttons back on my favorite coat? Done.
4. I love you, but~ My Yorkie is on strike because I won't let her sleep in my bed. The new bedding came along before Christmas, and the Mims got booted to her bed in the floor. Now she won't have anything to do with me unless I'm crying, at which point she pities me and wants to lay in my lap (where she proceeds to belch and pass doggie gas the entire time--after all, she is 10 years old, so she's geriatric in dog years). Why is it that nobody pays me any attention unless I'm actively weeping? If I call her, she will look at me, turn around, and lie facing the other direction. Little bitch. Story of my life.
5. Rejected~ There is this kid in Bell's class at school and Bell really wants her to come over for a playdate. I sent an invitation via the teacher, who passed it along, then sent back to me the phone number for the kid's parents. I called and introduced myself, we chatted, the Mom wanted to meet me in person. Fine. I met her in person. The Mom wanted to get together and hang out before the kid came over. We email a few times. Schedules and weather always conflict. By now, much communication has ensued. She knows where we live, they live less than two miles away. She has questioned the teacher about me, and been assured that I am neither serial killer nor child molester, and that I passed the Volunteer Background Check the school runs to ensure the safety of the minions when I go to help out. Still, no dice, all because the "hang out time" has not worked out thus far. WHAT'S THE DEAL, DUDE? Should I send in a blood sample and a cheek swab, along with my SSN and a list of all prior addresses? Fingerprints? Copies of my passport? I DO NOT WANT TO KIDNAP OR DO ANYTHING INAPPROPRIATE WITH YOU CHILD. Hell, I don't want my own kids half the time, little hoodlums that they are, so what would I want with somebody else's? Sweet Jesus.
6. I'm sick. Again. That only makes the 337th time in the past year that I've had a cold or respiratory infection. I took so many rounds of antibiotics that I finally reached the point where I figured my GP feared I was addicted, so I just stopped going to the doctor. Nobody wants to go to rehab for Cipro. Now I wait it out, cough, sneeze, blow my nose, lose my voice, run the occasional fever, and try not to die. Airborne doesn't work. Vitamin C doesn't work. All that herbal bullshit doesn't work. Washing my hands a lot, eating healthy, exercising, and avoiding other sick people doesn't work. I'm apparently some sort of breeding ground for minor illness, with no end in sight. On the bright side, I'm probably building up enough immunities that someday I could survive biological warfare. (Gotta look at that silver lining.)
7. Strike or Spare~ My children are obsessed with bowling. Yes, you read that right. Bowling. They have been to a bowling alley to go bowling exactly once in their little lives. It was a painful experience, having to get that special rack so they could roll the ball down it and watch it meander down the lane. The shoes made them mildly nervous, and we could have probably paid the mortgage one month for what it cost to bowl two games. I refused to play (I don't like touching those freaky, germy balls--who knows what lurks in those finger holes) and B ended up doing most of the dirty work. Still, the kids somehow remember the whole experience extremely fondly, and all they ever want to do is go bowling. As a result, they set up bowling all over the house, with anything that will stand in as pins--Barbies, Batmans (Batmen?), cans from the pantry, bottles of shampoo and conditioner. You get the idea. Then they roll a tennis ball or any other rollable object down the "lane" and leap around screaming their heads off whether they knock anything over or not. Until yesterday, when they came home from the in-laws with a plastic bowling set. Now, they can "officially" bowl, which means that every second of my existence is inundated with shrieks of bowling-related mayhem. I can't walk through my kitchen without tripping over a pin (or 5), I have a bruise down the side of my leg from being whacked with an accidentally-launched ball, three glasses have been shattered, one dog has been maimed, and I have spent long minutes contemplating where I can get Xanax on the black market (I'm thinking Portsmouth is my best bet). All in all, it's fun for the whole family.
As you can see, normalcy is in full effect.
Which begs the question, what on earth is wrong with me?