So, this thing happened recently. I ran out of funny.
And I haven't been blogging with the fierce urgency of now because really, what do I have to say? Particularly when I'm so not funny?
The concrete realization that the last drop off funny had left my body happened right around the same time that I started hating my life, which was about 8:30 last night.
I mean, the life hating had probably begun slowly, and was in full force during the weekend. But the revelation didn't hit until 8:30 pm.
There's nothing magical about the hour, except that it was just shortly after I'd put Jordan to bed and the approximate time that our sheets were dry and I was pulling them out of the dryer, which coincided with the precise moment that Nick walked in the back door from work.
And said, "How are you?"
To which I replied, "Fine except that I fucking hate my life."
And I know I have a good life, I do. I married a man I love. We live in a house that only gets nicer with each passing day and sweep of construction dust. We have an amazing kid. My mom is moving in, and we have a good little family.
But I couldn't see past the long week, followed by a weekend filled with six loads of laundry and three loads of dishes and the rushing off to do errands or help Betty at her house, and then the rushing back so that Nick could go to work in the afternoons, and then the struggle through dinner, through bath, through getting teeth brushed and jammies on and ready for bed.
And our house is a disaster. There's stuff everywhere. Jordan can destroy a room in three minutes flat. So can Betty, it seems. Plus we lack storage space, and we have a constant influx of stuff. And so the piles grow. And grow.
And when the fuck is one supposed to figure out where to shove the piles? Sometime between cramming the kid in bed and cramming yourself in bed? That time when you're eating dinner and breathing?
It's all just so tedious and exhausting and endless. And when I look down the hallway of tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, it's full of piles of more of the same.
Nick has a better outlook - of course - and it's not like my life is half fuller or half emptier, or more full of tedious tasks than his. He just has, you know, the better outlook. The one I don't have.