Signs

I finished A Girl's Guide to Vampires by Katie MacAlister(10) last night, and Land of Marvels by Barry Unsworth(11) this afternoon... two veeeeeeery different books. The latter is not a book I'd normally pick up on my own, it's for the next Literary Feast. It was good enough... and the story did pick up for me after the first 100 pages or so... but it didn't do much for me.

Well, so much for my plan to avoid artificial sweeteners. I made it, like, three whole days. I think I need to just be more forceful with myself about the whole "wanting something besides water and tea" thing.
In fact, I'm going to get up and get more water right now...

OK. That's better.

I did have some really great iced tea last night - Bean and I went to Smash Burger. The burger was awesome, but the tea was the best tea I've had in a fast-food place. Really good. Really really good.

It's interesting to me that almost everyone I know is having some kind of irritability issue right now. Nobody feels quite right. I'm more likely to burst into tears than scream a blue streak, but even I have had my moments (you know, swearing and then crying).
(It's probably all the Nutra-sweet, right?)
I'm just saying, tread carefully people. We're all gonna blow.

I'm also having some rather disturbing dead-husband dreams, and apparently recliners can still send me into a panic attack. There is a blue recliner in 2 pieces by the side of the road on my way to work. The first time I saw it - almost even before I registered what it was - my vision shifted and there was a dull ringing in my ears. I took my foot off the accelerator and took a deep breath and my vision cleared... The whole thing happened in seconds, but I cried all the way to work. It seems like these things should stop having this effect on me at some point. Like I should be able to sleep through the night on a regular basis and not feel pierced when I see recliners and Notre Dame insignia and Cubs hats and lottery tickets.
It seems like I should stop feeling broken.

It is interesting to me, though, how we continue on toward our destinations and move through our days, even when we feel pierced or deflated or broken. It brings context to those absent or blank looks on strangers' faces. Maybe sometimes it's not that they are lazy or bored, sometimes it is that they are gripped by internal mess. Maybe sometimes they are just getting through the day. For the first six months or so after Jeff died I should have worn a sign, "My Husband Died, I'm Not Really Like This." Maybe we should all have signs.