Today I have vacillated between feeling totally inept and like my own (baffled) commentator. These elements of emotion are not polar opposities, but do make for an interesting jumble.
INEPT - This morning I was apparently mistaken to think I could get away with eating cold cereal with 2% milk (instead of protein-heavy eggs and cheddar cheese) before taking a hot shower. I was (of course) all shampooed up when I realized that (1) I felt like I was going to faint and (2) no one was home to hear me fall in the tub.
COMMENTATOR - The best I could think to do was to order myself around in the hopes I'd annoy myself into not fainting: "Alrighty, feeling faint? Best to make that water cooler and get the soap off, then you grab a towel and lay down in front of a fan, yep, she's just overheated".
INEPT - My pets have gotten really good at swooping in and taking care of me (as much as they are able). I sort of came back to reality laying on my bed with sopping wet hair and my cat Michael loudly pestering me for cuddles/ shouting in my ear. It seems that he's absolutely desperate for my attention/affection whenever I feel like hell, I don't know how many times in the past few months I thought I might accidently throw up on him. If he were a person, he might be an EMT, a crisis counselor, or one of those people who specialize on getting suicidal people off building tops.
COMMENTATOR - "okay, the cat is telling you to wake the hell up, perhaps you should try to get your ass to work".
So I got myself to work, physically clean and mostly presentable, and sat behind my desk looking not-TOO-miserable for three hours before deciding that
(SILENT) COMMENTATOR - going back to bed is not a luxury, it was what the baby wants me to do
INEPT - yes, budget be damned, I was going to allow myself to be bossed around by my fetus, buh-bye office.
I scooted home in my 1990 boatmobile,
INEPT - someone remind me to buy some gas and have the transmission looked at,
COMMENTATOR - giving myself distance-to-bed milage reports all the way.
After feeding my pets their lunch I was faced with a now-common problem;
INEPT- I knew I was hungry but absolutely nothing sounded good and I sure as hell didn't have the energy to cook anything.
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find" 'Cause yes, I do become (perhaps inappropiately religious when I'm frazzled).
And behold, frozen Jimmy Dean sausage sandwiches were delivered upto me. I added sharp cheddar and brown mustard, and was quite pleased with
- Lots of pet-assisted napping -
Time to feed the animals again and
INEPT - "oh Lord, no one is here to feed ME, and I feel like crap again"
COMMENTATOR - "Seek and ye shall find . . . instant oatmeal"
Then a gently fantastic thing happened: as I was sitting in my sunroom eating my oatmeal, waiting on Suki to finish her buisiness in the dogrun, I heard I little girl singing her little lungs out. She was so unashamed and her voice so high-pitched that she couldn't have been older than 8. I couldn't judge how far away she was, and couldn't see her anywhere, but must assume that she was belting out at top volume. Although I didn't recognize most of the many songs she sang, I admired that she just kept plowing through song after song with varying ability to stay in tune. Finally I recogized "The Star Spangled Banner" and had to stop myself from roaring laughing when the lyrics turned to "Blah blah blah blah blah" and abruptly ended at "for the laaaaaand of the" because she had musicially cornered herself; only a mosquito could hope to hit the "free" note.
Perhaps second-trimester nasuea/exhaustion has caused me to go overly introspective, but I was reminded that sometimes when things get stumby, "blah blah blah" will sufflce.