Wake Me Up...This Can't Be My Life!

Have you ever had one of those days where everything just goes wrong? The kind of day where the elevator goes to the top, but when it gets there it's empty? Or the kind where you find yourself playing with the toys instead of picking them up...and hey! Wouldn't Barbie look sharp on her date with Ken dressed in that little red number?

Lately I have them more and more often, the days I mean...not the little red numbers. I used to have little red numbers. I used to have a life...and friends of my own...they were even my own age, I think. I think I remember that...maybe I just imagined it.

Yes, I'm a little insane. Not of the "criminally insane" variety...I'm of the "gets weird looks in stores" variety. Which is why most of my children's friends love me. They think I act crazy. If they only knew. I am crazy! The only sane thing about my life is.....well, I can't think of anything.

I'm what my doctor describes as a deeply depressed person...in need of psychological counseling, but (and here's the kicker) not in need of institutionalization. Who is he kidding? I have two kids, a mortgage, a house that's falling down around me and enough credit card debt to put Donald Trump into cardiac arrest. He thinks I'm depressed...I wonder what gave him an idea like that?

Sometimes I wonder how my mom and sister stay sane...and then I remember...they're NOT. They are as crazy and abnormal as I am. Which should only make me feel better, right? Misery loves company or some such nonsence.

At least on the way to the "nut house" I'll have company. And a ride. I refuse to share a room with my mother though. She's contributes mightily to my instability. It all started with her side of the family. They're all insane, you know. I guess I should be relieved to know from whence my insanity springs. At least I have someone to blame.

If they'd let me stay at the "private clinic" for a while...I'd be very, very quiet. Give me a mat, pillow and a padded room and hey...I'm set! Sitting on the floor imagining the trip...Disneyland here I come! Who says you have to use your Disney Visa card to go there? Would they keep me for a "28 day vacation"? Not Disneyland! The nut house...work with me here people!!

To be locked away from small children, impossible ex-husbands and sharp objects? Bliss! Could I sit and stare at ink blots all day trying to decide if I see butterflies or just a bunch of ink spots? Could I have one of those jackets that tie in the back? It's all the "rage" on the inside. Or so I hear. I haven't been up on the latest fashions in so long! No cooking. No cleaning. No "mommy, come wipe me!" screamed across the house. No broken sentimental treasures. No debt collectors, no grumpy old men and best of all...

Nothing to do but sleep. Or stare. Staring is good. Staring I can do. Or if it has no sharp edges, reading. Reading a book. Yeah, I think I remember doing that once. Unless that was a delusion...or is it a hallucination, I forget.

I must insist on NO visitors. This is my vacation. No one's horning in on my party! I don't want a roommate. If I wanted a roommate...I'd just get rowdy and go to jail. A single room with no view, thank you! Never mind that I'm a perfect angel and have never been rowdy in my life. No...wait. That was my sister, I'm the bad seed.

Anyway the point is, what's the point of a vacation if you have to share it? And after my vacation? It can only go downhill from there. Back to my life.

My ex-husband defies description, of which you can thank me later. My kids are truly something else. The something else, well...let's just say.....no, wait I rated this PG, can't say that. They fight like cats and dogs...don't ask me which is which. I have enough trouble without borrowing more.

The rest of my family is well...what my great-uncle used to call "tetched" in the head. That's just my mom's side. I feel sorry for my children. Poor dears. They are blissfully unaware of the madness that lurks...waiting til puberty to kick in! Will I then be cured because the genetic legacy has passed on? One can hope...but then my mother is still insane...so it's hopeless.

My ex-husband does try. I haven't quite figured out yet what he's trying...I'm sure it's not good, but hey, let's not rock that boat yet.

Sometimes late at night, I tip-toe in my kid's rooms and watch them while they're sleeping...so peaceful, so quiet. Finally. So very still and quiet...looking like angels. I look at them...and they lie. As they're sleeping, lying about what they really are...luring me into a false sense of security that tomorrow will be better.

I know that now's the chance to get some rest. That I'll need all my strength for tomorrow. I go to bed, crawl between the covers, exhaustion seeping from every pore and guess what?

I can't sleep! I lie awake and think to myself...does anyone else have problems like these? And I answer myself...HELL NO! (Cause if you're crazy, you gotta answer yourself. Who else will? Somebody might think you're talking to them!) It offends we crazy people if we ask you something and you answer before giving us a chance to. It's just plain rude!

I'm cursed. I accept it. I've been cursed all my life. Or most of it at least. Since the time I took my first steps and started getting "into" things. My mother uttered the curse that all daughter's dread..."I hope you have a child that acts just like you!" She added extra emphasis to the curse by pointing her crooked finger at me. She has a hook nose too and a big wart! No just kidding! Had ya going though, huh?

And it worked. I have one that acts just like me. And I have another one that acts like his daddy. Which proves God has a sense of humor because the curse works on men too! Now, that's kinda funny when you think about it. Unless you have to raise him. In which case invest in personal property insurance. Trust me...you're gonna need it.

All I really want is for someone to shake my shoulder. Not hard. Just a slight shake. Just to wake me up. Tell me it was all a bad dream. But they won't. They can't. They refuse to... because this is my life! It's a good thing I'm the way I am. A sane person could go NUTS!

**Please, please...if you read this rate it. This is my first attempt at something witty, so I really need feedback. Thanks!