Am I the only one behind in pretty much everything? Laundry, embroidery, dishes, de-cluttering, eyebrow grooming, so many many things? Lately, I have been prefacing every almost-commitment with, 'When I get my shit together . . .' And no, I do not consider the sh-word a swear. Shit is a fact of life. You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have the facts of shit. (Sorry, Mrs. Garrett!)
Will there ever be a day when I remember where I parked my car in the parking lot? Or when I will be able to open up one of those accursed plastic produce bags at the grocery store without going into carpal tunnel shock? Will I just once -- just once -- choose the fast line and not the slooooowest line at the grocery store? You know the line. The one where everybody is standing over a vent blowing carbon monoxide, slowly swaying to Muzak, right before the poor cashier is attacked by a woman who wants everything she bought double-checked because she was absolutely positive that the sign said, 'For you, madame, the price will be negative dollars!'
To cheer myself up, I made this:
At losing I am a TOTAL WINNER.