Take yesterday for example. I was being productive and had stripped the bed and loaded the washer and started it. About 10 minutes into the wash cycle I heard it, the noise of something other than sheets, pillow cases, and the bedspread being tumbled around in the washer, and I knew immediately. I rushed into the laundry room and frantically pushed the unlock button on the washer. Water sloshed all over the floor as I pulled open the door and searched through the sopping wet sheets. There it was, the remote control. Now this isn't just any remote control, this is a radio frequency remote, which is not cheap to replace for someone who is currently unemployed. As I pulled it from the water in the bottom of the washing machine, I noticed it was still lit up, a small glimmer of hope, but upon further examination, I knew I was probably fucked because the display screen obviously had water in it. I rushed to get a tupperware container and the box of rice. In my heart I knew this wasn't going to work, but I had to try. I ran upstairs to get the hairdryer and tried that too. My heart was racing a million miles an hour, because I knew I was going to have to tell Babboo, what I did. Just as I reached for the phone it rang, it was him. I felt like he somehow already knew, like I'd been caught red handed. I followed my hello with, please don't be mad at me. I broke the news and then proceeded to cry like a child that just dropped her ice cream cone. He actually took the new very well, probably because he lives with me and knows I'm close to losing the marble that is keeping me from being totally bat shit crazy.
Usually this short of thing just rolls off my back, but it was the tipping point, it was that last marble and it had just slipped through my fat little fingers. Everything that I've been worrying about and contemplating over for the past 10 weeks came flooding in. I felt like I'd been shrunk down to the size of one of those toy army men and I was drowning in the bottom of the washing machine, along side of the remote control that I had just sent to its watery grave. I somehow pulled myself together, without the help of any alcohol or narcotics, finished the load of bedding and made the bed.
Today has been slightly better, only a few tears and the kitchen floor was mopped. I still count it as a one step forward, two steps back kind of day, but it could have been worse. That's what I keep telling myself everyday, "IT COULD BE WORSE."
Let's see how I feel after this weekend, the birthday weekend. Not a major milestone birthday, but at this age, every birthday is an opportunity for a nervous breakdown.