Drowning, with a slight chance of recovery

I wanted to move to Australia today.

Why?

Because since January 2nd, when school resumed and rehearsals for “The King and I” went full steam, I have been struggling to keep everything together. Then I got sick, which has just blown everything to hell in a handbasket.

I know I have bitched about this to you all a lot, and I apologize, but today the dam burst open wide. You know those days, when it hits from all different directions, from lots of different people and places and you look at the mess and think:

“I suck.”

“I can’t manage.”

“I have let so many people and things down, I feel like I’m drowning.”

While I have come to LOVE the chance to perform again (Despite all the bruising of my knees) this production has taken all my time and attention the last two weeks. I have done shows before and managed, but then I had to go and get really sick, too.

I can’t seem to juggle all the balls in the air that I need to with that wrench thrown into the equation.

What time I haven’t been at the theater, I have mainly been in.my.bed trying to get better. Which means that I am behind on EVERYTHING. Plus, trying to function on all the medication I’m on has created ALL SORTS of lovely crap-bombs in my life.

Why? Because I cannot even think straight on a healthy normal day, let alone medicated and sick.

That tends to create, um, problems.

I have bounced checks, missed REALLY important deadlines at my son’s school (You know, like LETTING THEM KNOW WE WANTED THEM TO ATTEND NEXT YEAR) and have about a million phone calls and emails to return because I cannot cope and keep up. My comments section and Google Reader aren’t even speaking to me right now. There are real-life and internet people that are deservedly unhappy with me. Things that could have been avoided if I had been more on top of my game.

The combination of everything left me in my polkadot flannel pajama bottoms coughing and snotting in the fetal position and feeling like a big, open wound trying to figure out how to deal with all the fallout and damage and how to find the energy to fix it all.

It was a pretty bleak morning.

In fact, I was composing a blog post about how I was just going to throw in the towel and move to Australia with Alexander and his terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, when my son came running in wearing NO shirt and my shorts that say “Butt Quack” on the rear to tell me that there were two people at the door.

Oh. My. FREAK.

IT IS SUNDAY.

PLEASE DO NOT LET IT BE VISITING RELIGIOUS PEOPLE.

PLEASE.

PLEASE.

PLEASE.

I MEAN, LOOK AT MY HOUSE!

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU ARE SICK, HAVE TWO BOYS AND BARELY GET OUT OF BED IN FIVE DAYS*:

I am not an amazing housekeeper when I am healthy and at home, but this is horrible.

AND?

I look terrible. One, I’m sick. Two, I’m breaking out from theater makeup. Three, I didn’t get home until after midnight from doing a matinee and an evening show and showered and went to bed with wet hair. My hair currently resembles Steve Perry from Journey on a good day (Hee hee, Michelle!) but when I go to bed with it WET? AAAAAAAACCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!

See?

I took a deep breath, threw on a cardigan sweater to try to mask the point that I am wearing no bra and took a deep breath and went to the door. (Well, I took a deep breath, then started hacking up a lung, THEN went to the front door)

I saw a lovely teenage girl and her mom- a cute looking woman with bobbed brown hair and twinkly eyes.

I tried to talk over my hacking.

“I’m so sorry, I’m sick…”

“Oh, we know. Don’t worry…We’re not “Visiting religious people from church”. I’m hairyshoefairy’s** mom and I brought you cookies because I read you were sick.”

HOLY FREAKING MOO COW, BATMAN!!

First, I love that she would immediately know me well enough to know that I would be worried about them being visiting teachers. Then I was immediately touched and embarrassed. (You know, embarrassed because of the sick suck, and the Steve Perry hair, and the no bra and house and porch that look like a war zone and touched because HELLO, HOW FREAKING NICE IS THAT?????!!!!!.)

We stood talking on the porch for a little bit and “Grandma Marie” asked me to please put some shoes on because it was cold.

So?

I did the unthinkable (For me).

I INVITED THEM INSIDE.

Dude. If my house sucks I don’t even answer my door unless you are family or one of 5 people I can think of off the top of my head.

I was embarrassed to death, but this woman just oozes kindness and the “I’ve been there” vibe.

She. was. wonderful.

I blathered on and on and on We talked for about an hour and it was soooooo nice. I love this woman. She is what a dream mom should be. Open, honest, friendly, human, EASY TO TALK TO.

I seriously just wanted to hug her to death for an hour or two or four.

Her visit meant so much to me and manged to make a crappy day better. I still feel like suck about many things and don’t know how to fix everything that has hit the fan, but it helped take some of the overwhelming STING out of it all.

Plus, ya know…I got cookies!

Mmmm…

You are welcome in my war zone any time, Marie!

*So your house has never looked like this and it never would. Not in a million years. Not even if you were in a show. Not even if you were sick AND in a show. Not EVEN if you were sick and in a show and were simultaneously having your gangrenous limbs hacked off by a Civil War field surgeon un-anesthetized while Prissy is screaming at you that “She don’t know nothin’ about birthin’ no babies, Miss Scarlett”. YOUR house would NEVER be the sty that mine is.

Good for you. Here’s a cookie. (They’re homemade and Marie makes a mean chocolate chip cookie.)

**Annie. Your mom rocks the house. I want to keep her.