The Day I Officially Have Lost It

Sometimes you need a someone outside of your own skin to notice when something is amiss inside your skin. Like the time I didn't have my period for nine weeks and I went to the doctor and the first thing the doctor ever said was "What's going on in your life?" and I replied "I bought my first house. My grandmother just died. I started my first semester of graduate school."

After a moment of silence, the doctor gently suggested that maybe I was under a little stress. It didn't occur to me until then. He proceed to back slowly out of the door in case I then spontaneously combusted.

Speaking of dead grandmothers (said no one ever except for me) that also reminds me of the time I lived in Atlanta and my grandmother had a stroke. I was raised with a strong work ethic, and short of throwing up on your boss (which I totally almost did the other day - he quite literally dodged a bullet) your butt is at your desk come hell or high water. So I took the news soberly, suited up and headed into town. I had told no fewer than three people about my poor granny when finally a friend asked what was up with my earrings. I had on one pretty dangle from the French Market in New Orleans, and one bright orange Power T. Hm. Someone's not paying attention, methinks...

Yesterday, I agreed to give Mr. Smith some breathing room and ran home to pack for the Venable Casa. I hurridly thought out the four or five outfits I'd need in the coming days and slapped them in a bag. I ran out the door in the nick of time, met a friend for happy hour and proceeded to the Venable Casa some hours later.

It wasn't until I walked in the door that I realized the bag I packed was still at home. Sigh. I promptly threw everything I had on into the washing machine and maybe everyone thinks I just had a wild night out and made it back to work sleepless and in the same clothes.

I think I'm stressed. Until the day comes that I'm not, I choose to believe this:

thanks dan. words of wisdom.