Slight Crack : Yellow alert

Something happened today. Not sure exactly when the fracture streamed like a fault-line through my sense of calm and rationale. I have a sneaking suspicion it was somewhere between last nights attempt to find a good free movie on tv, and right.......now! ( While in the same room as a man watching a DVR recording of "Las Vegas")

I love Josh, but not enough to watch this cosmetic surgery commercial. It makes me feel ugly. Not to mention the writing would make a room of upstate Floridian hookers laugh, but the plots and dialogue leave me contemplating which voyage to unconsciousness would be more pleasant: an entire bag of peanut m&ms and a xanax, a blunt-head blow by remote, or half bottle of cheap red wine?

Other possible causes for my surging mental crack: Everyone at my workplace cleaning out their desks in preparation for our pink slips? The devastating digital number on the scale this morning? There was that squeaky left wheel on the Target cart. Why do I always get that cart? You know the one, it sounds like a screeching, repetitive old-lady of a metal cog begging you to stop pushing it, yet calling every one's attention to it's contents. I had a box of zone bars, two pair of chenille slippers and ky liquid. What? I found myself giving the apologetic smile to strangers and then ditched the damn thing in sportswear. (the cart, not the contents).

Perhaps it was the moment I noticed that I have not watched any new, fun or compelling TV in weeks. It may be a reflection of who I am, but I would literally look forward to seeing certain men in my living room: Dwight Shrute, Michael Scott, Hank Moody, Dr. Gregory House, McSteamy (he was getting sweet). It gets me down. I like my husband, he is a cool chap and all, but he doesnt have a team of writers to make him both adorably aloof and funny in a sinister way.

Maybe you relate, maybe you don't but the second week of January is proving to be a tinge bit challenging to navigate for me. The beginning of winter, the stress of politics, the passionlessness of rerun and reality tv, and most profoundly frightening: me left with the destructive chatter of my own thoughts. Great.

2007.Those were the days. You don't know what you've got...