Monday, January 13, 2014

Stress Level - 1,000,000

I tend to carry around a lot of stress. Like, a shit ton of it. Seriously. I'm a tragic mess of stress. I need to be in charge of stuff, and have it go smoothly or I lose my goddamn mind.

Last Sunday, the girl was supposed to fly back to school. Her flight was perfectly timed to take off AND LAND before the stupid giant winter storm hit. I called the airline to double check, but was told that there would be at least a two-hour wait for a call-back. Hmmm . . . still, she was in the window. IN THE WINDOW OF GOOD WEATHER.

We got to the airport. We checked her bag. She sailed through security. She got to the gate. We were happy, and a little smug.

And then, on the drive home, as the snow started falling, she texted that there was a delay. That they weren't boarding. O.k., I started getting a little worried, and so did the husband, and then we got home and started tracking the snow and the weather and the goddamn flight app which kept saying it was going to take off in 5 minutes, except we knew FOR A FACT that the girl was still sitting at the gate with some increasingly agitated passengers.

Still, we foolishly had hope. And I had a nervous stomach. And we kept checking that motherfucking, lying-ass app, that kept telling us that the flight was ready to depart.

Of course, it did not. And the husband had to go out driving in a winter snow storm to pick up our baby girl.

Repeat Monday. When she finally got home at midnight.

Repeat Tuesday. When she went back to the airport at 6:30am to try and catch another flight.

Fourth time was the charm, and she got back to school on Wednesday. I was a fucking wreck.To combat this during the hours my kid was at the airport on FOUR SEPARATE OCCASIONS, I stress-cooked [I AM MAKING MACARONI AND CHEESE] and stress-cleaned [EVERY RUG NEEDS TO BE WASHED] to pass the time and not constantly refresh the several flight tracking apps on my phone and computer, as well as the baggage tracker [NO, THE BAG DID NOT MAKE IT ON HER FLIGHT. IT'S STILL . . . SOMEWHERE.] and also not pester my kid with constants texts asking her how she was doing. Which she was fine, because she was 16 and hanging out at the Starbucks next to her gate.

And now, of course, I am sick. And so is the husband. Actually, he was sick first, so this is his fucking fault.

I would take to my bed, but my mom just had surgery, and my kid's 17th birthday is happening [HOW IS SHE 17? SHE IS MY BABY!], so I'm just going to go out and infect everyone because then they can be miserable, too.

Because misery loves company, and stress makes sure that cock-bastard gets all the company he deserves.

My most sincere apologies to anyone and everyone I panick-messaged during this time. Particularly Abby of Abby Has Issues, who kindly did not tell me to shut the fuck up and take it down a notch.   


  1. Please. Compared to me, you appear relatively normal (which why I think you still keep me around.) At least everything is working out okayish and aside from having the plague, you have a shit ton of food to eat and an immaculately clean house.

    Glass half full (of wine), woman! Mother effing glass half full!

  2. You needed a shirtless hunk movie marathon to keep your mind off the madness.

    Home made mac & cheese is the best! It freezes well too. Now I am hungry!

  3. So.
    You got any more macaroni and cheese?

    Asking for a friend.

  4. This made me love you even more.

  5. You are totally the person that I should have been texting as I sat at the fucking hospital waiting to find out what was wrong with my daughter all goddamn day yesterday. Her husband took over the shift at 5 after work. We didnt even call him until four, because we kept thinking, let's wait until we have some actual information! Ha! What a joke that turned out to be.

  6. Oh I do all of the above, too! Except of the cleaning. Because why?

    I'm glad she's back at school safe and sound now!


Every time you comment, I get a lady boner.