Stream of Consciousness Stress Relief

Calgon, take me away. Really, there should be a commercial for Xanax . . . "Xanax take me away!" For now, I'll have to settle for my blog to (one more time) "take me away." I'm the kind of person that can do 50 million different things at once and none of it is half-ass. Well, too much is filling up the old noggin and something is bound to slip. Today I had to translate a bunch -- four pages worth -- of mumbo jumbo into one page worth of information that a grade schooler can understand. I went to a meeting for something that I have conflicting feelings about (and everyone else seemed to be in the same steadfast united direction.) My husband is out of town and I can't remember where the hell he went, the boys wouldn't brush their teeth and get in the damn bed and my cat, I hope it is the cat, is banging against something in the playroom. Oh, and there is the toy making noise in the bottom of one of the donation bags that has yet to make it to Goodwill because my husband wants me to catalog everything that makes it into the bag so he can put it in his Turbo Tax spreadsheet. Not to mention, well actually that's just what I'm doing, the kitchen floor is covered in Pringles crumbs, there are clothes in the dryer from two days ago, there is pee all over one of the toilet seats and as I speak, I just found out that I unintentionally pissed someone off tonight. But all of that is nothing that a broom, a dryer sheet, Clorox wipes and a glass of wine won't fix. And if not, I can always sanitize the broom stick with the Clorox wipe and drunk-fly off on it while drinking the rest of the wine and sniffing the dryer sheet just because it smells good and I like it.

Seriously, if you see me driving down the street having a conversation with someone, please pretend like one of my boys is in the back seat and I'm not just talking to myself.