Sundays Are For Suckers

Hey! This was a fun Sunday. My house got flooded, my car air conditioning went out in 112 degrees and I got broken up with, via email. There is a giant gaping hole in the middle of my living room floor and I’m beginning to think that the depths of Hell are calling me. I keep sending them to voicemail but the calls are becoming more and more frequent.

Last night in my sleep, a small-boned child in a Victorian nightgown strangled me in an attic. I woke up in a state of panic, realized I was dreaming and told the woman at the foot of my bed what happened. Then I realized there shouldn’t be a woman at the foot of my bed.

Two important things to note:

1. Never underestimate the potential for rock bottom.

2. Anxiety will do the darndest things to a person.

Recently I started doing yoga to control my anxiety. So now I only get anxiety when I do yoga. It feels like a win.

In a panic to get out of my waterlogged, mold hosting house, I grabbed what I thought was a tube of toothpaste and when I later went to brush, polished my chompers with hair pomade. At the end of the day, I looked down to discover I’d been wearing my pants backwards.

I’m not yet prepared to talk about the heartache of my break up. But suffice it to say, you know your day is going to hit a new low when the header of an email reads, “This might not be the best time to tell you.”

I’m working on this new life skill of focusing on, what’s “in my circle”. You know, like what’s in my sphere of control. I’ve been told that this is a better way to live your life, a better way to focus and enjoy life. Or, as a dear friend of mine suggested to me tonight, “Write down 500 things you’re not in control of.”

“That’s fantastic,” I told her. “Let me list out all the possible factors in my life that could possibly go to shit.” Who needs actual misery,  when you have friends to remind you of all your potential misery?

While today was only slightly better than yesterday, as I’m in the hangover phase of the shitshow that is my Monday, I take a little bit of comfort in knowing I’ve tried to stay the hell in my circle as best I can. I drew a chalk line, sprinkled feathers, burned sage and stole a dried chicken foot from my neighbor, just to make this mantra official.

Now, if the depths of hell are planning to come and get me, they’re going to have to get past my motherfuckingcircle. Armed with hair pomade, a Victorian ghost, a sweaty yoga mat and this orange pylon I backed over, I’m pretty sure we can take on just about anything.