Losing It

Losing it. I’m seriously losing it. Lucia has stripped my synapses of all remaining connective tissue. I’m lucky I can remember where she is—but anything else? Forget it. A couple of mornings ago, I threw a little fit because I could not find two skirts and a shirt that I knew for a fact I’d put in the laundry. But there were no skirts or shirt in the laundry basket I’d just retrieved from the basement. Eventually, I remembered washing those items at Trump Place, not here, and became convinced Andrew had left them in the Trump Place basement. Conveniently, after half an hour of my manic searching and ranting, Andrew had to leave for work. Sure! Work! Just go ahead and leave!

Then, that night, searching once again, I found the shirt right there in my shirt drawer, and the skirts on a hanger in the closet. I hadn’t remembered hanging them.

Seriously. Losing. It.

What I myself didn’t lose are my kitchen implements. All our spatulas, serving spoons, lemon juicers, vegetable peelers, meat thermometers, and other kitchen miscellany are, I fear, casualties of the move. Where, oh were, is our box of kitchen items?

And when, oh when, will non-chaotic life resume?

Fortunately, I'm getting a little break. I flew to Connellsville last night (a pre-planned trip, not one planned out of desperation from teething), and I'll be here through Monday. It's sad not to be with Andrew...but it sure is fantastic to have someone else around to hold the baby. I actually started a new book! I painted my nails! I got some editing done! My life has returned!