Ugh.
I have had to take so much time out of my weekend to be enraged about this Chik-Fil-A thing. It's causing me flashbacks to a few month ago with that whole Kirk Cameron thing. Why is the liberal media so surprised when they hear traditional Christian views spoken out loud? Are they that stupid?
We're being fed to the wolves by liberals who preach freedom of speech and beliefs and religion just to trick us into feeling safe enough in our own country to have an opinion or faith or values.
Horrible, rude liberals.
So, I spent today suppressing my rage at America and Americans in general and trying not to be dizzy. I woke up so, so dizzy.
I have a theory.
Last night was my first night back in my room since our last flood (I spent two nights on the couch) and it was very rough. The water seems to have re-energized the stench of the all-natural bug killer I sprayed down there last time. It reeks, but it's subtle and I didn't notice until this morning that that's what I was smelling.
The last time I slept down there in those fumes I had the WEIRDEST dreams involving bugs trying to sneak up on me where I slept. The same occurred last night, and I spent the first four hours of the night waking repeatedly and thinking that I saw thin, black spiders retreating from just over my face, withdrawing to the dark ceiling and then disintegrating before my eyes.
I believed it was real the first two times and had so much trouble falling asleep again. Around the third time I started to suspect I might be hallucinating. By the fourth time, I was so sick of waking up and not being able to trust myself, I just gathered by bedding and went upstairs to the couch. I slept the rest of the night just fine.
My bug-hallucinations stem from my child hood.
I grew up in a house in the woods on a mountain near a creek.
Think bugs.
We also had cats. Indoor/outdoor cats. Trillions of them.
Think more bugs.
I remember waking up one night when I must have been seven or eight and my dream about fleas eating me alive just sort of continued and for some reason I thought if I moved out of my room they would stop so I went to my mom's room.
And there were a hundred other times I dreamt about mosquitoes, spiders and those freaky jumping spider things and relocated to the couch. My whole life I have been convinced that the solution to my dream problems is to move my bedroll.
This morning because of my flawless system for ridding myself of ridiculous dreams, I was awakened an hour before I needed to be by the elephant stomps of the kids on the floor above me. I gathered all my stuff and ran back downstairs.
Unfortunately, I became aware of the spray smell then and sleep was out. I dressed and washed up in my completely functional bathroom and put breakfast on. Then I returned to the couch and got another hour of snooze in before the kids came to eat.
We didn't do much today, but E and T are fasting for a holiday I don't understand and I had the kids most of the day.
Last night I successfully chopped the ring finger on my left hand open and bled for a good thirty minutes before I got the skin closed enough to bandage it again. Gross, right?
So then today, shortly after I had the thought that at least it was my left hand and I am a righty, I sliced open the tip of my right pointer finger just exactly deep enough to make it horribly painful. Another pile of bloody paper towels later and I got that one closed up, too.
T just shook her head and it was R who suggested I go to the doctor, but I've never had stitches and I am not going to break that record now. I might not have insurance but I have super glue and medical tape. I think I've got this covered.
As for my center of balance, I think it's a direct result of not sleeping last night. I squeezed a nap in this afternoon when E's mom recruited the two big kids to wash her car and the two little ones were asleep. E was on the living room couch, trying not be let his hunger-driven rage get the better of him. T was in bed, sleeping through her fast. So, I got on board with the silence and snuggled up in a pile of clean sheets on the play room couch.
When I woke up I "folded" them and put them away.
While I was feeding the kids dinner, E came into the room to torture himself a little bit. While he was talking with the kids and watching them eat (and drooling a little bit) J asked him a question about fingerpainting. I had told the kids no to fingerpainting today because it was pre-nap and I just didn't have it in me. E nodded in repsonse to J's question and said, "That sounds like fun. If I was your nanny, we would do that." And then he laughed. I told the kids that sounded fine to me and they should hire Daddy as their nanny and I am going on vacation.
Monkey was personally offended, as he was by the fact that I went on my mission's trip last week. He shook his monkey head and said, "Kimmy, why you go on vacation?!" all accusingly like I was a terrible person. So, I'm never leaving him again. Heart = broken.
Somehow the rest of the evening passed and I don't even know what I was doing. The kids have been in their parents' care for an hour now and I have still not eaten dinner. Neither have they, and their fast ended 25 minutes ago.
I wonder if they died.
That would be sad.
I guess I should go check.
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