Not nearly as widely feared as Friday of the same date, although I’m not sure why. The dreaded Monday combined with triskaidekaphobia should make Monday the 13th a day to stay home and hide under your bed.

Since it’s not a thing (can we make it a thing?), I came to work anyway. Today is my second Monday at my new job. Surprisingly, I have managed to get through almost seven entire business days with only one tiny urge to stab.


I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m only doing one job now or the new medication I’m on, but I’ve not had a single panic attack in 13 (there’s that number again!) days.

The one thing the new medication is doing that is bad is that it is preventing me from my favorite stress management pastime.

dash of gin

Of course, since my new medication is anti-anxiety medication, I shouldn’t need to relax via gin. Gin tastes better than pills, though.

Instead, I am yoga-ing. I’ve done more yoga in the past 13 days than in the first six months of the year. Maybe Bianca the Yoga Butt has a chance of showing up in time for Festivus after all!

I’ve also managed to spend hours and hours working on the landscaping and the project that I started last fall might actually be done by the end of the summer! (I just need to buy some rocks.)

(This image is 100% for my PSM because I’m hoping she’ll snort tea out of her nose.)

The rest of my time being spent suppressing my urge to sell my child. Whose idea was three anyway? He is currently refusing to answer to anything but Captain Barnacles (FYI, I’m Kwazii, a brash, one-eyed pirate cat; and the architect is Tweak, who either smokes a lot of meth or is the ship’s mechanic. Based on the speed with which she invents new stuff, maybe a bit of both.)

Based on the number of children who are not sold to carnies in before their fourth birthdays, I can only assume that this, too, shall pass. But I swear to Freya if he doesn’t shape up soon, I’m running away from home.

I go to work and deal with adults who may or may not be ass-candles. These adults have full frontal lobe development and should understand consequences of bad behavior and still behave badly. All that, and I can keep my temper.

Ten minutes alone with a miniature human with very little real empathy, a desire to push every boundary, limited knowledge of passage of time and consequences and I’m ready to take him over my knee. How does the tiny one push every button I have?


I am holding on to the hope that Captain Barnacles will soon regain his agreeable personality and I’ll be able to remove the old priest and the young priest from my speed dial.

In the meantime, I’m spending the rest of the day hiding in my bed.

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