The Blahs.

Blaaaaahhhhhhh.

I'm the first to admit that this hasn't been what most people would call a fabulous couple of weeks. In addition to my bank issues, I've also had my truck die on a big busy highway on a dark night, school conferences, a 16 year old who put off his Culinary Arts final until, quite literally, the last possible second, butt-loads of public crying...and tonight, my phone rang in the middle of our confirmation sermon. The phone which I distinctly remember turning off. The iPhone which has become a very pointy thorn in my side. The irony of that one is, my ringtone is the song "The Dog Days Are Over" by Florence and the Machine. Dog days are over, indeed.

I did thank the good Lord that it wasn't my other favorite ringtone: "In Da Club" by Fifty Cent. Or as I like to call him, Fitty.

So anyways. I've got the blahs. I'm not sure if it's just my nervous system resetting itself after going completely berserk or what, but I've got 'em.

I'm also pretty sure that I have that psycho version of PMS. I forget the exact name of it, but I do know that they make a pill for it. I'm going to look into it because the past two nights have been kind of icky.

Now, if we know each other even remotely well (and you know we do if you're reading this), you know that although I don't keep track of my female stuff I do know enough to be aware of the biological changes that it brings about every 26-28 days. For instance, if I find myself spreading cream cheese on ham slices and wrapping them around pickle spears and then bawling my baby blue/greens out whilst watching CSI Miami, I know it's time to look at the calendar and also make sure I have a good arsenal of Kotex Supers on hand.

Yes, I said Supers. Yes, those are the tampons that could double as T-ball bats. Judge much? I've had four kids. I was desperate for a plug a few months ago and a sweet young friend gave me one of her Tampax Slims. It was like throwing a tube of Chapstick into the Grand Canyon.

But getting back to the psycho thing. I remember reading something about it, about how it's like PMS on steroids. Like you really do experience a bit of psychosis. And I think I get that every once in a while. Most months it's very mild, and I may find myself going from Happy Jenny to Jenny Who Wants to Hurt You in the blink of an eye but it's over in seconds.

But every once in a while it's bad. Last night was bad. Bad like "make a 10 year old cry" bad. That's the kind of bad that doesn't just hover over your head for a minute and then dissipate like a 20 second sun-shower in July. It's the kind of bad that won't let you sleep. It's the kind of bad that puts itself on an endless loop inside your head for the next day or so. The kind of bad that lingers in your 10 year old's eyes, just behind his beautiful blue irises when he looks at you the next day with an unsaid "Is it safe to come out now?".

The "I shouldn't have done/said/thrown" that kind of thing. If you know what I mean.

Of course I sent the obligatory shrew email to Big Daddy, because he's the biggest, easiest to hit target I have. He replied tonight, but I just read the first sentence which was in response to my offer to drive William to hockey this week. I felt a mixture of embarrassment, regret, rage and shame as I furtively clicked on his reply in the parking lot of the grocery store. Yes, I checked it on my phone, in a dark parking lot. Facing my own inability to control my impulses in the harsh light of my office seemed a bit too daunting.

I'm also feeling rather blah about the election results. Yeah, yeah...I'm not going to bitch and moan and wring my hands over who's out and who's in. Honestly? I don't think it matters much. I think that out of the hundreds of politicos who were ushered in last night, maybe 5% actually give a shit about the people they are supposedly serving. Voting now almost feels like having to choose between your two least favorite dinners. You know you have to eat, but neither dish is floating your boat. So you go with the one that is least nauseating.

That's blah-worthy, isn't it? I remember my first voting experience, the 1984 presidential election. My mom is a die-hard Dem. So of course, I voted for Mondale. Monkey see, monkey do. Then I started dating my sweet college love, Tom. And became a Republican. Tom's parents had money. My next few boyfriends had money, or had parents with it, and so I remained right wing. Because, why not? Allllll the way up to Big Daddy I voted straight Republican. Because it was what I was supposed to do.

And then I became poor. I started seeing things from a different perspective. My kids would only ever know public school, so I started looking for candidates who supported school funding and opposed cutting it. I relied on the government for my health insurance. I was in the midst of trying to refinance three ridiculous mortgages. I was a single mom trying to make ends meet. So my voting shifted to the left again.

I don't like to talk politics. Some of my best friends are staunch Republicans and we get along just fine. Some of my friends are bleeding heart, tree hugging Liberals and we also get along just peachy. Me? I like to think of myself as the Floater. Not like the toilet-bowl floater, silly. I just kind of float around, never really attaching myself to one or the other. Something one of them may say in an ad can stick with me. Something I read about one may make an impression. I voted for two candidates this year just because I have their kids at my school and I adore the kids. Go figure.

I'm kind of blah about it.

I hope you are all well, and I hope that my local friends are enjoying this unbelievable stretch of gorgeous weather we're having. I'm still basking in the glow of my friends and their generosity and their unconditional love...that is still there despite the cuckoo-PMS and the blahhhhhs. I went to Aldi's tonight and thanks to a certain friend who bought a cute J.Jill coat from me, my kids have French Toast Sticks and loads of fruits and veggies for the next few days.

The blahhhhs kind of suck, but they also offer a bit of respite from the hurly burly day to day stuff. I'm not going to lie and say that I enjoy this beige mood, but I'll take it over panic and freaking out any day.

Stay classy, my friends.