Last night I got more than 9 hours of sleep. This morning I've had more than 5 cups of coffee. I am positivly bursting with possibilities. Ahhhhhggrrrttt! Quivering with potential...or possibly caffeine.
This must be what superheros feel like! The profusion of energy. The acute senses. The razor sharp focus. Yes!
Not like my normal self, functional but not running on all cylinders, senses slightly dulled, protected against the real-ness of everything. Kind of like walking through life with Vaseline all over your glasses. No. Today I am a superhero!
Well I'm seeing it all today and I have decided that I am Wonder Woman.
I wonder where the hell my husband is and why he's never home when someone urinates on the rug (human or canine, you pick), spills their milk (and yes, I do cry over spilt milk when it's on the oriental rug that will need to be sent out for cleaning), or pukes on their carseat (which has to be handwashed, damn European designers). When he's home alone with them, I get stories about trips to the zoo, children who eat all of their dinner and hours spent playing board games and doing playdoh art projects. Lies? Just call me Wonder Woman.
I wonder if the those blundering toy designers intended Polly Pockets to be an exercise in forced Mother/Child interaction or if they were just inventing microscopic toys for the fun of it. I wonder if I am the only mother whose small children are incapable of dressing these synthetic damsels without the assistance of their unenthusiastic mama. I hate Polly and her small gang of scantily clad plastic girlfriends. I abhor the rice sized shoes that get stuck to the bottom of my feet. I loath the process of tugging and stuffing these tiny females into their sticky clothes. Is Polly an anti-neglect device in rubber clothing? Just call me Wonder Woman.
I wonder when I will get over the fact that I leak. I leak when I exercise. When I laugh. When I get up in the morning. I wonder if you think this is too much information and now you have this picture in your mind that you can't get rid of? I wonder if you realize there are other blogs out there that reveal less about the writer? No offense. Just call me Wonder Woman.
Nine hours of sleep. Excessive amounts of focus centering, caffeinated beverages. A lens to more clearly examine my life. Wonder Woman my ass! Can I just get the costume and go back to ignoring all this crap? Just call me Wonder Woman.