A confluence. A merging of all things evil in my current reality. A convergence in the Force. An assembly of assailants. An unholy throng of cruel mini-tragedies.
There is only so much one person, under-medicated, hungry, and sober, can withstand.
Friday, in desperation, I ate real food. Small quantities, so as to not be crippled with guilt. Still, an official departure from my diet. But, oh, sweet delicious freshness. Texture and flavors performed Swan Lake on my palate. For lunch, I had grilled chicken with carrots, lettuce and tomatoes. Not long ago, this would have been an ordinary experience. But on Friday, it was a delightful culinary experience. And Friday evening, given that M had to work later than expected, and had firmly declared a "no-pizza" night, we met at Longhorn Steakhouse for dinner. I ordered with my dinner, a take out box, and promptly put half of everything in it before I even started to eat. But, oh, the salty, meaty, Caesar salad-y, mashed potato taste explosion in my mouth. The sensual texture of silky potatoes and tender red meat and oh, how everything had its own flavor and color. The sweet, gorgeous color of it all! Nothing was vaguely gray. So fresh and delicious. The famed Harry and Sally scene from the diner came to mind. Only I wasn't faking.
So, Saturday morning came and the cereal that bears a striking resemblance to playground mulch returned. But this Saturday brought with it trials of my patience and mental fortitude that might have exceeded my limit.
We had soccer this morning. S kicked a ball so slowly, I thought maybe I was suffering from a cardboard-induced coma. The ball crawled along and came to a halt right before the goal line. It was comical. But, typical family sporting performances aside, we had to go to CiCi's Pizza Buffet afterwards for the team's end-of-season celebration. The bad pizza temptation. The crappy crust with cheese and salty goodness. With overly-processed toppings. Ooooh. Even that looked yummy. And the little girl next to S finger painted with her alfredo sauce. I was disgraced by the waste of it all. The first temptation of Julie.
I should mention at this point that the script for my craziness meds ran out on Thursday. At some point, I had the phone, but not the bottle to call in a refill. And then, later had the bottle, but not the phone. And it took until today to call in the refill, by which point, I was on an emotional roller coaster, and mere millimeters from total breakdown. I did this thing in the car while the kids were "elbow fighting," (is this something kids do these days? They said that as though I should have heard of it.) and I turned around at a red light, and it must have been like in horror movies where the psycho alien emerges from its human disguise, and is slobbery and fanged and terrifyingly loud, and screamed at them to stop. (The look on their faces reminded me to phone in my script right away.)
THEN. I wanted to take the kids to the pumpkin patch and corn maze tomorrow, but it's closed on Sundays. Which would have been fine. Except that it's also closed Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
AFTER THAT. I saw this cool catalog and wanted to pursue information about a product in it for my sister for the holidays. The website was by far the least user-friendly site I've seen since the Internet evolved past glowing green lines of DOS programming. It was baffling, and inexplicably thrifty with actual facts and information. (How big is it, how much does it cost, what is the price of the accessories) and other things a consumer might want to know.
THEN. I remembered that Bellingrath has a fun Halloween thing to do, and the kids and M's dad might enjoy doing that Friday night. So, I look THAT up online. Brilliantly, the octogenarian volunteers who plan that organization's events planned it for Saturday night, actually Halloween. I know my kids would rather walk around a botanical garden than get candy from neighbors. Yet another bust.
FINALLY, the dinner hour comes along. The kids get Wendy's for movie night. I drive with extra concentration as the enticing aroma of fast food burger and fries wafts through the car. I keep an eye out for the sweet, creamy frosties so they don't melt. (A big sip of them would have stopped that, you know.) I stop and pick up my script. We come home and I heat a meal claiming to be beef with noodles. Two tablespoonfuls later, it's gone, and I'm simultaneously revolted by the food and wishing there were more. And the kids leave the table, announcing that they are finished eating.
And in a final tease to my willpower, E has left three-fourths of his cheeseburger on the table. I take it over to the trash can, and see that S has left a bunch of fries in there. I actually reached into the can and pulled out a fry. I actually contemplated putting it in my mouth. M sees me, realizes my imminent fall into ignominy, grabs the remaining cheeseburger, runs it under the faucet, and dumps the runny mess into the trashcan. The fries are soaked, and everything is a ketchup-y, mustard-y, soggy mess. I snap out of it. I realize what I was about to do. I skulk off.
I sit down at my computer and bitch about it.
Do you think that taking 2 anti-crazy pills at once is a good idea?
