The Dogs of Bagfood Town

Last week, I pretty much lost my mind. I got really overwhelmed with work, and was so immersed that some of the simpler things in life became difficult to execute. For instance, I went to pick up some Thai food at lunch, had my wallet out, and after signing the slip, I just grabbed the food & kept my wallet in my hand and walked up the stairs towards the door. Except I stopped, because people were calling my name, seeing how I’d left my purse on the counter. Yup. Sure, I’d have figured it out when I got to the car, since cars require keys and all, but normally, I’m not that absent-minded/spaced out.

Of course, that same morning, I picked up the aerosol deodorant can – that happened to be sitting right next to the can of aerosol hairspray – and proceeded to give my hair a nice big squirt of deodorant.  And that night, I asked my husband to empty the dogs of bag food into the container. He asked me to repeat myself, and once more, I said I didn’t want to lift the dogs of bag food, and until he said it back to me (with a pregnant pause!) did I realize my mix-up.

I allowed my inner hypochondriac five minutes to indulge in the terror of a brain tumor and have since moved on, distinguishing between hairspray and deodorant and retrieving my purse when I set it down.  But things still feel a bit thick and fuzzy around the edges, like my brain is fifty feet above my body & not always fully attached. Racing, thinking, planning, making lists.  Part of me just wants to take a nap until mid-June, the dates and anniversaries loom on the horizon, father stuff, work deadlines, all of it. But as well-rested as I’d be, I need to go through it all, for that which does not kill us makes us stronger, and I’m still laughing and telling stories about crazy people who love to hate or who got drunk at lunch and stole a pitcher of margaritas and burst into a client meeting to offer everyone a cocktail or just making fun of myself.

So much fodder. So little time.