*pantry raid.

Sometimes it feels like you're at work, and you're all, "I'm in demand! People need me! I could be in the circus I'm such a good juggler! I multitask like a pro! Holy CRAP where did all this water come from and how am I supposed to keep my head above it?"

Being a drone is difficult.

Then sometimes you get home and you think, "My stars this is quiet. What's happening to my life? Did my belief system just implode? Why are all the things that are 'good for me' so goddamn unsatisfying? Did I just tear up because a 'Jon & Kate + 8' rerun is on?"

Being melodramatic and hormonal is also difficult.

So you strap on your big girl shoes and you take your dog for a walk. And you potentially offend L Sis' neighbor who asks if her daughter can pet your dog by screaming, "OH NO, MA'AM" because you are horrified by her insinuation that said dog might poop in her yard. Which she did not insinuate, you just happen to be 84% deaf.

Then you go raid your larder for bribes to make the marrieds hang out with you. I am not above being a third, fifth, or any other odd-number wheel. I threw all the too-much-salt-having, meat-containing items into a bag, then added lots of hooch for good measure. Also novelty snack items and "chikn" nuggets, because after all—I have to eat, too.



Some people have their Prozac. I find the better part of a bag of fake chips and half a box of fake meat is at least a temporary mood elevator. Plus, it's hard to stay too left of perspective when you're getting the stink-eye.