For at least the past 5 years I’ve had some version of “write more” on my New Years resolutions list. Actually, it started as “write more” and then it became “get back to writing” and then it moved to “write something”, until finally this past year I didn’t even make resolutions because I was so mad at myself for not even remotely holding myself to it and writing ANYTHING.
So here we are. I’m doing this. I’m kicking myself in the fanny and I’m doing this. I’ve been blessed with a rather humorous life, though I will be the first to admit I have the worst luck. I mean it’s downright comical how ridiculously terrible my luck is sometimes. However, I cope with my terrible luck and the absurd situations I find myself in by laughing at it all. Because at the end of the day, I’m breathing, and that’s a good day, am I right?
My son is 4.5 and around a year ago he developed a habit of reassuring everyone, usually while telling them about something unfortunate he’d just done, “it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” As in, “I colored myself with a green Sharpie, it’s fine. I’m the Hulk. It’s fine.” He was green for 4 days, through 6 baths.
So that’s how we’re rolling through life ’round here. It’s fine. Everything is fine here.
Welcome to the madness.
I’m going to need more Adderall.