Baking Lessons

So here’s where I am right now. . .

• We just got home from an eight-day, second annual Nevada road trip (this time to Vegas), and my house looks as though mythical creatures who secretly live underneath my carpet have finally shown themselves and puked up the following: dirty laundry that smells like casino smoke and hotel carpet cleaner; plastic eggs that are filled with crappy candy and toys from China; and approximately five zillion pieces of paper that apparently have the ability to reproduce like newlywed rabbits or self-splitting amoebas (unsure if they’re sexual or asexual yet — I’ll keep you posted). I wish I’d written or tweeted during our vacation to show that I was indeed having a good time and to dispel my image of permanently depressed, pathetic, pity party planner. Unfortunately, I’m having issues with the whole, “Hey everybody on Facebook, I’m not home! Come rob my house!” thing. Just add “paranoid” to my list of problems.

• My dog is still dead. But I had the luxury of forgetting about this fact for eight days whilst I pretended he was vacationing at my aunt’s house. After bawling my head off for about half-an-hour last night when I thought I heard him at the back door, I decided that the denial phase of mourning is definitely underrated.

• After promising myself that I’d never, ever, ever, ever try another stupid treatment from another stupid professional with another stupid idea, I started seeing another chiropractor for my facial pain and various other fibromyalgia knickknack paddy wacks. As a result, I’m on pain meds that make me a happy person part of the time, a sleepy person much of the time, and a frustrated person most of the time. It’s like the Seven Dwarfs all in one body, minus the dancing, jewel mining, and creepy crush on a teenaged homeless girl. If there were any bridges of descent height around here, I’m thinking my husband would be standing on one of them and weighing his options.

• After laboriously checking out other schools, tediously analyzing the situation with all of our friends during every dinner party/coffee klatch/gymnastic practice, and generally freaking out for weeks, we finally came to the conclusion that we should keep the kids at their current institution of education next year because our son loves, loves, loves his teacher (whom he will be with for one more year). Of course, today we found out. . . she’s leaving.

• This is the first thing I’ve written in more than two weeks. Which arms me with a combination of guilty feelings (stress, irritation, embarrassment, sadness, disappointment) that are all perfectly suited for the self-flagellating whipping stick. But here’s the rub — I took a bit of a computer vacation while we were in Vegas, and all I could feel was relief. And now I’m having an extremely hard time jumping back in with any real enthusiasm. I know — I make me crazy, too. What can I say — just count yourself lucky that you don’t live with me.

• And last night, after being so proud of the kids for pouring their little hearts and souls into their “What I did on My Spring Break” reports, I went to print the photos they’d picked out to show to their classmates, and the god damn printer ran out of ink. For the third, forth, fifth (?) time while printing one of their class assignments, it ran out of ink. I swear, I’m in the Matrix, and it’s déjà vu time.

So I’m officially baked. Not even half baked. I’m fully done, burned on the edges, dry on the inside, stuck to the bottom, baked. It’s funny because I’ll read other blogs about the bad stuff people are going through and sometimes I’ll think, “Oh for the love of Pete. Stop being such a whiner. You’re complaining for the most annoying reasons. You’re so lucky because of a, b, or c. . .” And then I wonder, what would I say if I came across myself? I know I’m lucky. I know things could be much worse. I know I’m being whiny.

And I also know that people — usually unknowingly — tend to have the strongest emotional reactions to the failings in others that most resemble their own.

It’s just a shame that I couldn’t dislike something else. Because the things I dislike are so damned annoying.