Lately each day has brought us a spate of fresh problems, or complications to pre-existing ones. I can expend only so much energy dealing with this stuff…before I feel like curling up and going fetal in the corner. So much of it is big picture stuff (the little man’s future is in my hands, our house is falling apart, and there are unexpected job prospects on the horizon for the husband and myself), but the little things are starting to pile up and pull me down.
Like last Saturday night, when I could have used a break. I had a ticket to the Low show, but no one to watch the little man.
And I discovered I am unintentionally copying Ozzy Osbourne with my current hairstyle.
And tonight, just before his bedtime, I noticed the little man seems to have a broken tooth near the back of his mouth (a premolar?) that he hadn’t made a peep about.
And, I’m ashamed to admit, in my desperate need for escapism I’ve been turning to Go Fug Yourself. Even though I often have no clue who the celebs being skewered are, my mind boggles at their phenomenally perplexing attire.
But before long reality looms large again, and with the options of fight or flight I will eventually choose the former. Besides, as bad as things are, they could always be worse.
Bonus: Interesting Kung Fu Hustle factoids.
Plus: Reality Sandwich takes a final bow. Timmy, we hardly knew ya.
