Short version: I've spent the weekend watching my dear, sweet, strong-as-hell grandmother become helpless and miserable. Meanwhile, I'm watching those who love her fall apart. I don't even have anything astute or poetic to say about it other that it's awful.
There is no point to this post other that to warn my friends to steer far, far away from me. I wouldn't touch me with a 39 1/2 ft. pole. I oscillate between crying, grouchy, fine, hungry, not hungry, flat-out bitchy, needy, stand-offish, and more crying. As Xtopher would say, I'm a hot mess.
So....Don't try to talk to me. It's a mixed bag: I may burst into tears at a word...or I may bite your head off and tell you to f*&^ off. I'm worried that I will be kicked out of my tax class for throwing my textbook at my tough-as-nails prof...or I might just cry...in class...in front of my peers. Fabulous.
If you see me, RUN. Save yourself. You know, like Jenny told Forrest.
1 comment:
Actually you are just fine to be around as long as you come prepared with a plethora of distracting baby poop, baby diaper, and baby puke stories.
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