I'm mad as a snake. Or a hornet.
I'm ready to spit fire and hang folks by toenails and stomp and scream.
I'm angry at this, that, and all the others.
I'm tired of the news. I'm tired of the rain. I'm tired of the laundry basket finding more dirty clothes.
Every. Single. Day.
I want someone else to take care of whatever it is. I want someone else to make sure that lunches are packed, outfits are selected, and that snacks are properly labeled and homework is signed. I want someone else to make sure that my clothes are wrinkle free and relatively matching. I want someone else to sweep the hair and dust and sandspurs and crumbs off my floors.
And, while they are at it, they should totally bake me some brownies, too.
I want 5 minutes to myself that does not include my time in the restroom.
I want my clothes to fit. I want time to work out--and I also want all of the salty fries I can cram in my mouth. With bacon and cheese and ranch dressing. Please.
I'm fiery and hormonal and crazy all over and it's starting to hang out a little more than usual.
Why is it that I have this urge to lose all sense of sanity? Why can't I find that inner calm and peace that those ladies with serene faces and smooth pony tails and cute yoga outfits have? I'm ready for the world to right itself again, for the calm moments to find me, and to have some clarity in my mind.
And an afternoon nap.
I feel like I race, race, race towards the next thing, and then I get there and pick up more and more and more to carry. And then I get to do it all again the next day.
I know it's a season, I'm thankful for this season, and I'm blessed beyond measure during this season.
I know, I know, I know.
I love my life, but it doesn't appear to love me right this very minute.
Tell me that I'm not the only one. . .