It’s well past my bedtime and I’m up baking cookies. I can’t sleep and baking cookies makes me feel better. And I need to feel better because I’ve had myself a day.
Every family has its fair share of crazy hanging from the family tree. My crazy decided to visit, planting their branch right in my living room for five hours longer than I could tolerate. Had I been able to leave I would have. But since it was my living room there was no place for me to go and crazy was having far too much fun wreaking havoc on everyone’s sanity to get the hint that they’d worn out their welcome.
Too much crazy taxed my last nerve and I snapped. My Zen aura was all discombobulated and I was well on the way to kicking crazy right in their too wide ass. When crazy pushed my very last button I responded with a resounding F*ck you! Crazy responded with their own choice words. I’m not proud of my own bad behavior or my potty mouth but in the moment it really felt good. Then, it didn’t.
I learned years ago that I need to keep crazy as far from my front yard as possible. That branch of the family tree is better planted in places where I’m not expected to weed, feed, or nurture it. Planting crazy in my garden is like planting kudzu in the South. It overwhelms everything and everybody and no matter how hard you try to get rid of the pestilence, it always manages to thrive.
And now that crazy’ has finally gone I’m baking cookies so I can feel better.