By Heather O.
I’ve had a bad week. I don’t know why it was a bad week, it was just a bad week. Grumpy, tired, listless, grumpy. Did I mention the grumpy?
I don’t know about you, but sometimes, I feel itchy. Not, like, itchy in a I think I’ve got a bad case of poison ivy itchy, but in the I can’t stand the feel of my own life itchy. It makes me feel like I’m a worm on a hook, like I’m wriggling away from something that I can’t even identify.
These past few days have been particularly bad. Probably PMS–I’ll cop to that, but it’s something more.
Really, I blame February.
I was reading through the archives today, because I was bored and tired and my brain felt like mush, and I thought, “What was I doing at this time last year?”
Last February, I was blogging about LOST and calling for chocolate.
Now, I like chocolate as much as the next gal, but I’m not really one to have candy stashed in my house. I try to avoid junk food, really, because it’s expensive and my kids get grumpy when they eat it. I’m also not into hiding stuff from my kids, mostly because I’ve got nothing to hide, really. I’m not condemning those who do—it’s just not how I roll.
A year ago, I blogged about being on my way to Target in a bad mood, demanding chocolate.
This week, when I found myself at the grocery store, I grabbed a bag of Hershey’s minis, specifically to stash. I hid it from Little Sister, putting it in the cart when she was least likely to notice. Plus, because of aforementioned dearth of candy in our house, I actually don’t think she realized what it was. Oreos, she can identify. Pringles, free with a coupon, she’s all over it. But mini chocolate bars? The only time she’s ever seen them would have been Halloween, and even then, she was perfectly content to suck on a large lollipop all night.
When I got home, I hid the bag of candy out of sight behind my meds in the cupboard in the kitchen, knowing it’s a place J wouldn’t think to look for food. Did you hear what I said? I’m stashing CANDY. I’m HIDING it from my children. I’m HOARDING CHOCOLATE.
What the heck is wrong with me?
Again, I totally blame February.
Pardon me, but it has been one hell of a winter. The coldest and snowiest winter on record for decades, I’ve been stuck in this house, turning up the heat, hiding under covers to keep warm. And if you’re hiding under covers to keep warm, you might as well take a little nap. And a little nap turns into ruminations about life under the covers, and then it turns into fear of life OUTSIDE the covers, and before you know it, you’re the woman who nobody has seen for 10 days and is hiding chocolate behind her blood pressure medication so her 8 year old won’t steal it.
How long, I ask you, will it be before I attain 12 cats and start shuffling around the neighborhood, muttering to myself, dressed in a flannel robe and rain boots?
Pass the chocolate.
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