Can’t Help That Day (have I already used this post title?)

I don’t have a post up. You may have noticed.

Or you may be tricked by the fact that there are words that are appearing here right now.

Normally, I schedule my posts a few days in advance so I can be all easy, breezy beautiful cover girl about it. One less thing for me to worry about in the morning. Plus, I start my day off with nice comment alerts to let me know you guys are stopping by.

Well.

This weekend that did not happen. This weekend I fell flat on my flabby ass. And did that consistently for several days.

I like to think I can blame the move or….something. But I can’t.

Wait, that’s not true. Because I’m totally going to.

Now that the move and the party and the illness are over, I’ve had time to take a look around.

Did you know that every single pair of pants I own needs to be altered in some way? And that I do not like the shopping with its lines and its messiness and its money spending? So I either have to go get these pants altered or venture out of my house to buy new ones. I do not care for either option. And I feel like crap about it. How can I not want clothes that fit? How am I so lazy that buying clothes that FIT ME and do not open me open to potential mom butt and/or plumber’s crack seems like torture?

Except that it does. It feels like a personal torture. It feels like someone is forcibly raking me over hot coals while sticking bamboo under my fingernails and singing “It’s a Small World”.

And it’s not just limited to the pants situation.

I’m tired. I am tired of this situation. You may be asking yourself, “What Situation, exactly?”

I’m tired of running. You’d think I wouldn’t be running anymore now that we’re done. You’d be wrong. I have to do all of the little things that were ignored during the move. And the little things? They are an army.

I’m a certifiable hot mess, folks. My entire life is one tiny debacle after another. Please send the paperwork for me to fill out to get my Hot Mess ID card. It will take me 4-6 weeks to fill out.

So I’m doing what any sane person would do.

I’m going to get a pedicure.