I just had to blog.
I just took a hot soak in the bathtub with a mug of chamomile tea.
Jax the cat got locked in the bathroom with me, and pulled at the door the whole time I was trying to relax.
It almost frustrated me.
My hair is deep conditioning as I type.
All I'm wearing is a towel and an afghan.
I'm up on the davenport in the living room, or front room - whichever you prefer - and my hair is dripping on my nekkid shoulders.
It's 6:19 in the pm on a Wednesday night.
You guys have given a gift to my soul with all of the comments and emails you have sent. I'm in process of answering them. Bless your hearts. For real.
Truth is - I'm OK. I'm super hormonal. I miss Aaron terribly. I've had three periods in the last six weeks, my breasts are always hurting, and the hormonal headaches are ridiculous.
I've stocked up on feminine products, ergo ...my vagina having it's own drawer.
Pads, tampons, tinctures, powders and Pamprin.
One word of advice - do not buy off brand cheap tampons.
That is NOT where you want to cut corners in your budget my friends.
I'm a bit discombulated, I feel bloated and tired - unfocused and unenergized.
It's near 9am before I get my head screwed on straight anymore.
I have been on the fence for quite sometime about quitting blogging - to the point that it's been a joke with some of my friends. I guess I just needed to make a decision, and then as soon as I did make the decision, I realized it was the wrong one.
I have decided to continue blogging - and I'm going to rename the blog 'The Bipolar Blogger'.
Bob Mackie is designing my gowns as I type this.
I have no grand illusions about blogging - I'm not trying to make a business out of it - or just use it to promote Etsy, or become the next Pioneer Woman, I just like to yak my thoughts out - it's rather selfish of me actually - cause it just helps me to think 'out loud' sorta kinda.
So here was my thoughts today.
I made a Pinterest board called 'Addicted to Downton Abbey'.
For those of you that aren't watchers - law girls - Netflix it up.
I'll try not to give too many spoilers, but oh didn't we love it when his black market rations turned out to be plaster dust? Or when we thought that he in fact had lost Lord Grantham's dog.
This might get long - I suggest you pee and get a drink. Or vise versa.
Thomas. Let's talk about him.
He's a stinking scoundrel, isn't he? You just love hating him - he's so sneaky and manipulative.
You can imagine him spanking puppies and drowning kittens.
There's something about Thomas - especially this season, that is just flat out breaking my heart - and I'm beginning to embrace Thomas.
It doesn't hurt that he's a beautiful man out of character.
He reminds me of the three hooligans that tormented my mother in the summer of 1984.
The lower southeast side of Chicago.
A perfect postage stamp sized yard - tended by my fabulous mother - she worked hard in her polyester pants with the sewn in crease and the elastic waist - her tanned arms toiling in her cotton smocks, with a king-sized Kool cigarette perfectly balanced on her lips.
Her yard was her fifth child - her pride and joy.
Along came the hooligans that summer in 1984.
Three motherless rascals moved in next door - ages 7-10.
They peed on her flowers through the chain link fence.
They ripped the green beans right off the vines.
Shenanigans a plenty.
They would taunt her, throw things in the yard - you get the picture.
You don't mess with my momma.
No amount of threatening worked. The more I yelled, the worse they got.
I decided to love on them. I took them to the zoo. I talked to them all the time and bought them presents.
They turned out to be the sweetest little things, starving for love and affection, starving for a mom.
And so it is with this thought that I embrace poor Thomas.
He's needing some love, just like we all do.
Why is it so easy to be kind to others, and yet so hard on ourselves?
So tonight - I'm going to take it easy on myself. I'm going to pajama up and curl up on the couch with endless cups of tea. I'm going to rest and realize that I'm just not at my best right now - and that's OK.
This too shall pass...why not let it pass in peace and understanding, instead of beating myself up for not being full of energy and getting a million things done a day.
So let it be written, so let it be done.