Funny life, this. One day a huge shitpile, next day fan-fucking-tastic. Or maybe a little less dramatic, but you catch my drift. Alls I’m sayin’ is… every day is different. Not an epiphany, surely, just reality. The SAHM is subject to much fluxuation in her days; through the eyes of her child/ren, her partner, and through the crumbs that are left, her self. Oh hello there, self. THERE you are! Haha… I haven’t heard hyde nor hair from you in years. Where you been, anyway? Oh… had a kid or kids, eh? I get it. You’ve been temporarily flattened. Underneath the bottle of scotch. No, not the crappy bottle, the good one, the one that was more than $20. Yeah, that one. The one that doesn’t dole out hangovers. Just makes you feel good.
Tonight I’m on the couch. Husband has early morning meeting and always tosses and turns like crazy the night before that kind of meeting, so I’m steering clear of the hubbub. It’s almost 12:30 a.m. here in Baltimore, Charm City, The City that Believes and Breeds, hon. The Greatest City in America? Usually I’m sleeping by now, but the prospect of not keeping anyone but my own stupid self up is just too enticing to give into exhaustion just yet. That bottle of good scotch sitting on the counter in the kitchen is calling me in with it’s siren song… I realize I’ve completely forgotten my occasional cocktail for today. Maybe I’ll just skip it and wait till tomorrow. I’d rather not get up from the couch, truth be told.
I have had a Twitter account set up for over a year, and still, for the life of me, cannot figure out why. Why should I care about Twitter? I could really use some insight here. Or just the facts. Cold and hard.