Worst week ever.
Seeing as how there was a particular week in which I heard, "you have ms"...wouldn't you say that's "sayin' somethin'"?
To summarize...someone left the cake out in the rain. And I'll never have that recipe again.
If it could go wrong? It did. If a situation required someone to blame? It was me. Stretched in 18 different directions, I reached the point in which I picked up the phone, called my mother and proclaimed, "I can't be all the things people want me to be right now, Mom. I feel like Plastic Man in '79."
Dear Plastic Man,
Was your scalp also tingling and shooting zingers? Did your legs go weak, causing you to trip up the stairs? Lastly, did you feel compelled to stick your face directly against the nozzle of a fire extinguisher in the hopes that you could find a good Samaritan to squeeze the handle and not let go...until it was empty? Because your face felt a lot like a bonfire? Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.
Tonight was capped off nicely by the black box of doom that stands at the edge of my driveway, staring at me through the window, daring me to come take a look inside. This week's score is Mailbox 4 - Me 0. Tonight, there was a letter from a health insurance company I applied for family coverage with, because we're trying to get a little relief from my husband's $187/week payroll deductions. Here is a snippet of their response:
"Additional requirements are needed. Please submit copies of Tina's medical records from her primary care physician and neurologist for the past five years. A decision will follow after review."
What's that, Mr. Rogers? "Can you say, DENIAL, boys and girls?"
(Plastic Man? Mr. Rogers? Donna Summer? Clearly I've retro'd...)
Here's the good news. The week is almost over! More good news? My brain is currently operating within the late 70s. Because when I retro, I seem to go to the very same place in time. Someday, I will incur a neurologist who can fully explain this phenomenon to me. In the meantime, I must take a moment to thank Donna Summer for providing my retro theme music. I still recall Mom taking me to the record store to purchase the 45. Though she despised the song, she always placed my needs above her own. In turn, I've haunted her with it. I've called her and played it over the phone. I've posted the video to her facebook page. I've even recruited my kids to do the same. Turnabout is fair play. She posts pictures of the monkey with cymbals on my page. Not funny to scare the heck out of someone with ms, Mom... :-)
I suppose she did have a point. Why would someone leave the cake out in the rain?