I hit an all-time low this morning. I actually burst into tears because I could not find the brown sugar. Tragedy in the extreme, I know.
You see, today is Hubby's birthday. (Happy Birthday, hon!) He's 30 today, a big milestone. I had visions of candlelit dinners, of gifts and jokes and making much of him. Instead, he gets a houseful of screaming kids, a pile of dirty dishes, and a wife whose hair looks like Oscar the Grouch, and who is standing in the kitchen sobbing because the brown sugar isn't put away in the right spot.
Happy Birthday, hon.
Okay, note to self: Jetlag is real. I don't think I believed it before. Also, I am not talented at overcoming it, by using any of the normal techniques like drinking water or powering through a 22-hour day so I can sleep the next night. No, I stayed up all night last night, alternately trying to sleep and watching Season 2 episodes of Friday Night Lights.
Now, this morning, I'm trying to see past the sandy dry eyes and migraine-distorted vision, and wandering around making such pithy comments as "Wow, hon, the coffee you made is really bad."
Happy Birthday, by the way.
And, oh yeah, it's not morning any more, is it?
What day is it again?
What's my name again?
I think it might be someone's birthday today, but I'm honestly not sure. Whoever it is, I hope it's a good birthday. I'm going to go back to bed.