Hi. My name is Lena and I'm a stressaholic. No, really.
The moment that life seemed somewhat normal again and I actually started sleeping at night instead of propped at my desk in my nightgown doing "people searches" on my old elementary school teachers, and my hair finally stopped falling out in tufts the size of small pets, and I could even start a sentence with "I feel..." without bursting into tears, I apparently decide life is now boring and needs to be shaken up.
You know, so that I can have something new to lose my hair over and cry about.
The way finances sit in this house right now (as if they freaking have time to sit; they hardly have time to wipe their feet and take off their coat before they are rushing off to more important things like mortgage payments and insurance), we are in need of extra cash.
And by extra cash I mean for those days I really want to spoil myself with, you know, Tide instead of All.
But, I've been mooching off my husband for awhile now and while I now know I should be making $134,00 a year, I keep checking the mailbox and I'll be damned if that check hasn't made it's way here yet. Maybe they misspelled my name. That always happens.
So, mama's going to have to get busy. More writing, more gift basketeering, more ebaying, more budgeting, more organ harvesting.
Because if we do not sell this house within the next few months, we will have two mortgages. That's right, I said TWO. Which just so happens to also be the exact number of days for which we could afford to do that.
I hope bald and weepy is the new look this season.