It's a packed week. Most of it beyond my control. I had my stuff packed for Zumba, but my poor husband was being pelted with phone calls and issues at work and it would have been decidedly unwifely (unuxorial? or is that just husbands?) to leave him. So I missed Zumba, and I was really upset. Still am. I keep wanting to complain about it in a highly unhelpful manner. I don't know about you guys, but when I plan exercise and bring all the stuff and then am prevented from going, I feel like a rat getting its tail pinched. Stress. There are certain things that keep me happy and when I don't get them I am as snitty as can be. My son needs jeans, which makes me absolutely wild with frustration-- I hate my kids looking shabby in the same thing day after day (childhood issues). I have NO TIME to get him a new pair. My favorite size 16 Geoffrey Beene skirt I used to feel more or less slinky in is now falling off my hips in a totally unalluring way. Finally, my daughter's best friend is going to be a Mouse in the Nutcracker, and she didn't get cast (remember? MY FAULT, for not getting her there 3 times a week), and we're both kind of heartbroken. And I didn't have my shit together with Halloween Invitations this year so our party is going to be small. I'm worried our young guests won't have a good time.
Bourgeois Suffering, as my best friend might gently point out. All I need is a good Zumba class. Or a good cry. I'd prefer the former.