In pitch dark I go walking in your landscape...Just cos you feel it doesn't mean it's there... - "There There," Radiohead

I finally – FINALLY – mailed the dear Suse’s package today, the goodies packed carefully into a sturdy Jockey For Her box and securely wrapped in strappy packing tape. I felt so urbane and international, knowing which customs form to fill out and writing the funky address on the box. (And hey, I only ate and then had to replace her Five Star bars once. Ok, twice. But only the hazelnut one.)
A woman in line next to me was fascinated by the fact that I was mailing something to Australia – how exotic! She peppered me with questions: “Is she your sister?” [No. Don’t I wish.] “Wow, you must love her a lot.” [Actually, I do.] “When is she coming back?” [She’s Australian, she lives there, kind of permanently.] “Has it been long since you’ve seen her?” [Forever. Literally. I just couldn’t get into the whole we-met-on-the-Internet thing. People look at you like you are a FREAK. And perhaps I am but gosh, I love Suse, so I don’t care. I love you, Suse!]
I mailed it surface again, but hopefully it won’t get hung up in customs this time. The post office estimated 4 weeks for delivery – God and the customs officers willing.

It’s been a crazy morning. It didn’t help that last night at ten I decided that I needed to get the hell out of my house, because I’d been cooped up with my children all day, them whining because it was raining and they could not go outside (it was a cold, hard rain) and me just being nutso (must look into upping my Zoloft dose now that winter is coming. Or today is Thursday. Or the sky is blue. Whatever.) So I wandered up to a neighborhood bar and had two Yuenglings and an order of buffalo bites, and read When Madeline Was Young, which is a bit scattered as far as where the story is going, but again, I am loving the characters Hamilton has created and develops throughout the book. So I had an hour or so to get my head together again, but then I got home and Terzo started crying and we are finally – I am finally- succumbing to the whole crying-it-out process because if he doesn’t start sleeping thru the night soon I am going to DIE of exhaustion. (Don’t hate me. Don‘t flame me. I am truly sorry. But he must learn to sleep. Now. Because, have I mentioned, I am going to DIE?)
And this morning it was cold and grey and I felt as if I had not slept at all.
Also this morning – I have been busier than - a three-legged horse in a glue factory? A tail-less horse during fly season? A rat in a junkyard? What the hell is that expression? (All Google came up with was ‘A one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest’ and that is NOT right.) Anyway, I have been crazed this morning.

After dropping Primo at school, I worked out a plan with another mom to help out my next-door neighbor who has still not given birth to her sixth child (she’s a week overdue, and clearly insane anyway). Also, I was scheduled to help out in the school library at Paxson this morning. I showed up a wee bit early, helped label new books, and shelved a cart. I was feeling all competent and together and whatnot. And then I saw Mrs P, Primo’s kindy teacher, in the hall on the way out of school, and she said to me, “Did Simon bring in his snack today?” and I remembered – despite the giant red letters on the calendar, and the Post-It note reminder on the desk, I had forgotten – that it was MY day to bring in the kindy kids’ afternoon snack.
So much for competent and together.
Fortunately I had to go to the grocery store anyway – to replace Suse’s chocolate bars – shut up! - and I got pretzels and raisins, and other stuff we needed at home (Milk. My children drink So. Much. Milk. I may just buy a cow. It might be cheaper.) and after steering around every single old lady in this city who all decided to go grocery shopping at the same exact time and obstruct my headlong progress through the aisles, I made it back to the school and dropped off the snack (and a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano cookies for the teacher, because the woman looked like she could use some chocolate and it was only ten in the morning) and repacked Suse’s package – SHUT. UP. - and went to the post office and then went home and finished constructing the giant vat o’ veg soup I am leaving for my boys to eat for dinner tonight. And now I am sitting in the coffee shop, drinking copious amounts of tea and writing drivel and kibbitzing with W about when it will be acceptable to our offspring to just drop them at morning assembly and not have to hang out to wave to them as they walk to their classroom after.
And now I have to go pick up Primo and drop him home and go to work till ten tonight.

Precisely when, do you suppose, could I fit an extra hour in there somewhere to start running again? Because the weather is perfect running weather, and I appreciate nothing quite like I appreciate running in the snow, and you know, snow season is fast approaching.

And now the dear sweet coffee shop dude is playing Radiohead for me.

Bliss.