As if I needed it, I have proof yet again this morning that I am a total jerk. I didn't need the proof. But it is here, dangit.
Last night I got home with two messages from people I had let down by not carrying out my responsibilities to or for them. They weren't mean at all! Just kind of like "Where are you, Sister B?..." And I felt like such a shmoe. Such a dumb-bum. And on the way to Sunday dinner I saw someone I haven't seen in a really, really long time whom I used to be so close to but was poisoning my soul, so I had to remove myself from the relationship. I don't know if they saw me. But I felt like such a jerk that I can't (or is it won't? I still don't know) help that person anymore. I believe it is the combination of these two events that set me up for a night of "You are a freaky, nasty, leprous excuse for a human being" type of dreams. Finally at 7:30 (late for some of you, the bum-crack of dawn for others) I had had enough. I pushed my daughter gently away so me and my pillow could breathe and wallowed about deficiencies I carry and how much I disappoint myself by not more fully embracing the Atonement and all the things I'm messed up about. Sheryl Crow sang through my head over and over "My greatest mistake." (Which, if you think about it, is sort of hilarious.) And then I decided to pray. And offer myself a little patience. And I got out of bed and ate some delicious Kashi cereal for breakfast and read about how Pahoran was murdered on the judgement seat and in comes Gadianton! That Book of Mormon, let me tell you. It has got some very interesting reading.
I felt a little better.
And then I drove over to my Mom's house to blog and for the fiftieth time almost hit this little dog that sits in the middle of the road at the top of the street. Let me tell you, people, that would have been the last straw! He is a cute, tiny dog and I know the family he belongs to. I know he must be so beloved. I have this terror I will be the one to do the dog in in my beautiful and happy used Durango. But I have to wonder: People? If you love your dog so much, why is he not with you in your house twenty feet away? Why is he in the middle of a semi-busy street waiting to meet his maker? Is he a kamikaze? Is this his final death wish? WHY DON'T YOU INTERVENE?!?!? Yesterday he was in the same exact spot and the Double B was driving, and he said something hilarious when I expressed my deep and profound concerns about being the one who eventually maims the dog. If you are super squishy about this, you might not want to read his comment, because it is morbid. But funny. You have been warned. It is also totally, totally my husband. He listened to me for a minute and then goes "If I hit that dog, I'd just move his carcass to the side of the road and write R.I.P. in blood."
Okay, maybe it's not funny to you. But maybe you can see the humor? I'm not exactly sure.
You must understand, half of the Double B's charm is in his delivery. Really. He is a good, good man. Just not... a... pet lover, I guess.
How 'bout them Jazz, huh? 3-1 against the Thuggets??!?! I get such a thrill. Really. Such a thrill.
K.J. was trying his darnedest to get out of school today: "I took four drinks last night and none of them helped me, 'cause I have a tummy ache." And then, "No, seriously, Mom. I think my head is still a little warm." as he tries to breath heavily (symptoms, you know) and play the DS at the same time. Being the cruel, cruel mother I am I said "Okay. Well, if you get half way through school and still feel yucky, you can call me and I'll come and get you." He looked at me, sighed, and ran and got his shoes. It was a noble effort, though, like, for real.
Tonight the Double B and his softball team play their first game of the spring tournament. I do not have high hopes for them. And yet, it would be marvelous if they won. A game. Even one. Any game would do.
I love my Double B. We have been married eight years, and have been delighted with how gosh darn compatible we really are. Of course, this does not stop us from arguing over the new decal I want to put on our car and the name of our child in front of others. It ended like this:
Marie: (pointing) You do not always get the last say, Ben!
Ben: (pointing) Neither do you, neither do you, Marie!
Which is funny he should say that, because I never get the last say. I swear.
This has been very therapeutic for me. Thank you for listening.
Aren't blogs the best? I spew my litter that no one wants to hear and feel somehow legitimate for doing so. And if you would like to spew your litter, I guarantee I will read it happily. Because I just love to read your blogs. Like, for real.