zombie me

Spent the day having the most annoyingly low-key panic attack ever. I realize the low-key bit makes it sound relatively benign, but you try spending the day with your heart racing and what feels like a bowling ball on your chest and let me know how productive you are. Or don’t, since you’ll probably be all yeah, that panic attack was a piece of cake and cranky mama is just a big wuss and then I’ll be sad and feel like a loser. So keep it to yourself.

This all started because I lost my photo album. It’s probably been lost for a while, but I only realized it was lost today, when I tore apart the house looking for it. It’s like the best-of photo album, the one with all my favorite pictures of all time (I started it in high school and we all know how long ago that was). How is it that I still have things like my old keychain with the (admittedly very cool) X-Files keyring but not my photo album? Not So insists that it’s got to be here somewhere but I of course am convinced it’s gone forever and all is lost. That’s why they call it an anxiety disorder, folks.

In other news, I miss people.

unlocked

keys

On last…what was it, Friday?…I realized I’d lost my keys. I’m not ordinarily a key-losing sort of girl, so this was somewhat alarming, but the fact that the kid had been pillaging my purse the day before lead me to believe that they were somewhere in the house as opposed to out in the wide world. Which would be comforting, if not for the fact that I still can’t find them. I’ve torn apart the house, checked in and under the couch, looked in the toybox and inside all the shoes…still no keys.

So I’m effectively housebound, seeing as I’m entirely uncomfortable leaving the front door all unlocked and vulnerable. I could just wait for Not So to get home from work, but – winter! Dark! Cold! If I’m not going to go out in the daytime, I’m almost certainly not going to go out at night. Not while the outside is so bitter and cruel and the inside is all warm and toasty. (Seasonal Affective Disorder? Me? No!)

But the house is only a few rooms, and they’re all somewhat dreary and confining…especially since I’m taking the week off from work (a perk of being my own boss). We don’t have cable, and running after the toddler is kind of all-consuming. What is that? Bored, do you say? Well. Maybe just a little. Nice, too, though. It’s so weird not to have a million things to do all at once.

Hanging out at home is making me sharply aware of the fact that we need things for the house. Things that we do not have. A new couch, for example. We got our old loveseat at Home Reserve about…four years ago?…and it was fabulous for a while, but it’s kind of thrashed now, not to mention too small. It was nice and cozy when it was just the two of us, but not so much for a family of three. Three plus cats, that is, and the cats? Take up a lot of room.

There’s a couch I am deeply in love with at Ikea, but for some reason they want to charge me $400 to ship the thing to my house. Why, Ikea? Why so much hate? You know I love you, baby. So I’m trying to find an alternative way to get the couch (i.e. someone with a truck who wants to haul flat-packed furniture around with them), but in the meantime, the old loveseat? Fills me with ennui. I don’t even feel strongly enough about it to loathe it. It just…is. Lurking, dingily, in my living room.

Let’s all keep our fingers crossed that my keys turn up soon. I clearly need to get out more.