GUILT

I has it.

Um, God, I NEEDED THAT SLATE, THANKS.

Also: You best believe I just spent a very entertaining morning on PositiveButterflies.com.

Allow me to bring it bulleted-list style:

• Sadie clung to me today when we dropped her off at daycare, despite the fact that she had an entire plate of waffles & syrup at her disposal. My lady loves daycare, and she loves to eat even more, but an end-of-cold coughing fit left her a bit clingy this morning, and she velcroed herself to my arm (and then my legs when I stood to leave). She didn’t cry when her teacher picked her up to facilitate my quick getaway, but the little mournful gaze she gave me was somehow much, much worse.
• I got called to audition for a show with my favorite company in town. I read the script last night, and every single role is awesome. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something really challenging like this (assuming I’d even get cast, of course). ENTER GUILT: I know the way this company works. I’d be looking at three intense weeks (and weekends) of rehearsal, and a month of shows (with only Mondays and Tuesdays off). Add to the mix that the show runs in October and November, and overlaps with a play festival that Brad is slated to produce. We’ve been operating on a taking-turns system with our theatre pursuits, and his turn is next. Furthermore, he had this planned first, way before this audition. He still wants me to go to the audition, but I know if we were both tied up with theatre commitments, there would be a hellacious string of days to live through come November. Days where I’d see Sadie for 60 minutes or less. Days where she’d transition from daycare to an evening babysitter. I remember how hard it was for me to do the last show, and this would be much, much more demanding. But, oh, I still want a part so badly. Every time I try to get a gut reaction from myself (What do you want more — the month with Sadie or to do the show?! Quick!), I honestly have no answer. I’m so torn. To do the show would be really unfair to Brad and Sadie, right? To not do it, I guess, would be unfair to me. FUCK.
• Thank you all for your comments and get well wishes. I’m sorry if I’ve not been to your blog lately. Work is still pretty chaotic, and this FUCKING COLD is still making me want to pass out on my keyboard (but I am feeling better today, thank you).
• Apologies, all those projects I’ve been meaning to start/plays I need to fucking write/that one play I REALLY need to fucking write because of the LOOMING FUCKING DEADLINE. I am not sure when the hell I’m supposed to find time to start/work on/complete you.

Great. Now I’ve gone and reminded myself of Jerry Maguire, a movie I hated so much that I walked out of the theatre — and I am the woman who suffered through the entirety of PAUL BLART: MALL COP in the theatre, my friends. Shut your giant head hole, Lipnicki.*

• I had been volunteering for a while as, basically, a pen pal to a cancer patient. My job was to write to this woman in Iowa twice a week (or more) to lift her spirits and make her feel a little less alone during treatment. The organization I was working through sent me an email last week telling me that they hadn’t heard back from the woman in over two months (patients in this program are supposed to respond to monthly check-in letters/emails sent by the administrators), so I was instructed to stop writing. I immediately felt a little sick and suspected the worst, and — because I’m sneaky like that — I Googled the shit out of this woman’s name (which, luckily for me, is pretty unique). I found her Facebook page — as well as the pages for her kids and mother — and, apparently, she’s fine. Just ignoring me, I guess, and shitting all over the efforts of the people who wanted very much to help her through a difficult time. I am guessing that the true spirit of volunteering doesn’t entitle me to be angry about this (and then bitch about it on the Internet), but I kind of am. I mean, what the fuck, lady? It’s not like sending two cards per week was some monumental effort, but it definitely took some time and planning and creativity and fucking dedication to do it for as long as I did. And then, of course, I realized that her last Facebook post was at the end of May, and even though the rest of her family has been posting in recent days (with no mention of any kind of tragic event), what if something bad DID happen? I mean, I guess that wouldn’t explain why she has ignored MONTHS of check-in requests — seeing as how earlier in May she posted about relaxing on the porch with a beer and talked about a promotion at work — but who the fuck am I to judge? Have I ever had to go through chemo while taking care of three kids? And yet, here I am, taking it all personally and feeling slighted, like it’s all about me. Embarrassing. Also: GUILT.

That’s it. Thanks for letting me bitch and moan about my “problems”-that-aren’t-really-problems. Feel free to do the same in the comments. What good is the fucking Internet if we can’t air this shit from time to time?

*This is what he looks like how. Apparently, his body caught up to his massive head and he’s a giant? Or just has a fondness for being photographed with tiny guitars? Either way, nice hair, douche.

Sorry, Lipnicki. But I definitely don’t feel guilty for saying that.