Internet, can I be honest with you? This week bit the big one.
Funny, that’s the kind of thing Hank would say — no, DOES say — all the time, no matter how many times I complain about his total lack of social graces.
Right now, I would love to hear him tell me how this week fricking sucked. Which, btw, it totally did.
For a while there, I actually wondered if stress and fear could make a person crazy. Because I’ve had a couple days where I was so worried and afraid, I thought I might black out. Maybe even sort of hoped I would black out, so I could wake up later with a bump on my head and a funny story, and then find out that everything was just fine.
No such luck.
Things are not exactly better now, but my therapist Dave said I should try to process my emotions so that I can be more “centered and open,” which sounds like instructions for a floral arrangement, but I’m not the one with the Masters of Social Work framed on my wall, so just this once, I’m not going to argue the point.
Wait. Did I mention I’m seeing a therapist? I can’t remember. OK, well, big whup, I’m in therapy, just like 99% of the celebrities in US Weekly. Truthfully, if I wasn’t already, I would have to be now, because lately I have this total consuming anger towards phones. Like, I just want to smash them with a hammer. Or an atomic bomb.
Sure, phones seem all harmless and useful, until one day, you pick it up and somebody says some words involving “assailant” and “wounded” and “don’t have any more information at this time.” Turns out there is a kind of phone call that, seriously? You never, never, never want to get. Ever.
That’s when you realize that phones have been faking you out, pretending to be helpful and in fact, they’ve just been waiting for their chance to ruin your life.
God, I hate phones.