El Fin De Semana

That might be all I remember of close to 5 years of Spanish lessons. Sad. I need to brush up for my trip to Costa Rrrrrica! in October.

It's been a tough few weeks for me, monkeys. A tough few weeks. First - withdrawal from birth control because my prescription ran out. Second, anxiety attacks by the bushel, usually riiiiiiiiiiiiiight as I'm falling asleep. Third, coming to terms with the stark reality of my financial situation, which a financial advisor, when pressed, might describe as "effed." Fourth, a week of debilitating exhaustion and headaches paired with SELF-INFLICTED SUGAR WITHDRAWAL due to No. 5: The Master Plan To Eradicate My Chubb. Let me see. Is there a sixth thing? There MUST be! Oh yeah, sixth - work drama. Eh.

But, with children working in sweatshops for 12 cents an hour so I can pay less than $6 for Hanes underwear, I'm really not in a bad position. And I never really put that out there. At least, I hope not. I think it was these things (simplified in order not to steal any more irreplaceable moments of your life than absolutely necessary), combined with my own personal style of coping, which is really more like non-coping, which can be really fucking exhausting, that added to the pressure in my own personal atmosphere. And there's only so much a girl can take. By the end of last week, all I could think of, all I had the energy for, was sleep.

However, The MFDC, in typical MFDC I'm-Not-Letting-You-Sink-To-The-Bottom style, forced me north for some good chicken and then lobbed a glass of wine into my hand, effectively kicking off the sort of weekend that was 1 part errands and personal obligations, 1 part lazy, and 1 part BOOTY. TASTIC. It was a weekend of thirds.

As you can imagine, I wished it wouldn't end, but end it did - and far more neatly than the final installment of the LOTR movies, where the last 30 minutes are filled with nothing but echoes, soft focus, slow-mo, and things floating through the air. Slowly.

No, it ended with my alarm going off and me launching my left arm toward it to snooze, only to realize that since it (my arm) had been resting over my head for an undetermined amount of time, it was more akin to launching a dead fish at my alarm clock than sleepily reaching over to quickly buy myself 9 more minutes. Things crashed. And still, though it was Monday morning, I was optimistic. Tabula rasa and all that.

It felt good, the optimism. I hope it sticks. But it also felt really good to be able to turn over toward MFDC - who when sleeping resembles a peaceful, bearded cherub - and repay him for keeping me afloat this weekend in a way none of my bendiest efforts ever could by saying, "Baby, guess what? Alberto Gonzales resigned today."