I spent 45 minutes searching for the skirt I wanted for this morning. I had chosen it and placed it separately.
It’s still missing, though I dumped out every tub, making a horrendous mess, like the proverbial “drag bomb” went off.
This is a condition that a friend used to call “clothesmania” when you just can’t get it and get crazy.
And in the middle of this I had the 15 minute wakeup call to my mother, now in an Econo Lodge in Fayetteville.
I’m crazed and crazy, and there must be some point to this.
Why did goddess hide my skirt and leave my arms tingling with frustration and craziness?
I can only assume she did it on a morning when I have time obligations because she wanted me to work through it and get on.
I feel crappy and want to give up.
But I’ll get in the car and go anyway.
That must mean something, eh?