Friends Don't Let Friends E-Mail Drunk

A friend of mine had the privilege of receiving this e-mail this evening from me, because it was that kind of day:

I'm sorry, first I meant to e-mail you and then to call you, and here it is almost 9 and I feel too stupid to talk to anyone because I fell asleep with the one who really isn't a baby anymore but we're gonna keep calling her that until she is 30, and I just woke up and my brain is fried but it is too early to go back to bed. Now Larry is trying to talk to me about something intelligent and I swear I'm going to lose it, because I know it's something complicated and I don't want to think about anything complicated right now.



Where was I? Oh, yes, sorry. My whole life is like that first paragraph right now and I have no idea why, as we don't even have a baby anymore and I'm not pregnant; but Lord knows, I am drowning in a sea of crap and no one listens to me anymore and what is the point anyway?



I keep getting off track, don't I?



So, getting together next Saturday! Is it too late? I guess I hesitated to commit because your plans would cost us real money and what if someone threw up the night before and I had to stay home and wash 16,000 sets of bed linens, because that is what I always have to do whenever anyone throws up around here, which is way too often, and do you even remember throwing up more than once or twice in your entire childhood? I don't. So why is it like a flippin' hobby with my kids, huh?



Now Larry is mad at me because I just said that I don't care what he is talking about and I don't want to build our long-awaited summer vacation around his niece's wedding in Portland, Maine, which she had the gall to schedule on Labor Day weekend, because doesn't that make it really easy to travel up and down the East Coast? Us and every single other human being who owns a car east of the Mississippi?



So, I was going to say I'll just skip the whole thing, but the more I type, the more I realize that I really need to get out of the house, and screw the fact that Larry needs to spend that Saturday making our backyard into even more of a pit than it actually is, when I know he won't even bother moving the woodpile away from the side of the house, even though it is filled with ants (and termites, too, probably), which are infiltrating our house in record numbers...



Anyway, is this invite still open? If not, I certainly understand. Or maybe we can just meet at IKEA instead, where I need to pick up sheets, because, even though we have a zillion pieces of bed linens, no one ever has both a top sheet and a bottom sheet at the same time to make their beds with. I know other places sell sheets, but IKEA has the cheapest ones, and it's a good excuse to go buy some more frozen meatballs, since that is absolutely the only thing I cook that makes them all happy (except the vegetarian of course). Frozen meatballs, heated up in the oven and covered with sauce from a can, are apparently the nectar and ambrosia of the gods...I don't know why I ever even try to cook anything else.

So, IKEA, Saturday, you and me...right? Don't bring your kids, or I'll pretend not to know you. Thanks.


Ever have a day like that?