Out of Sorts

I have been going all kinds of crazy this week.

I have missed my exit more than once. In fact, I even made a wrong turn driving on the way home. I have forgotten to take my wallet out of the diaper bag, which ended up in the car with Michael and Ollie heading out for the day. There was 1/8 of a tank of gas left in my car, so they had no choice but to turn around for the rescue. I forgot to bring 11 DVDs, belonging to a friend of mine, back to his house after he graciously let me borrow them during my post-partum convalescence (sorry Dan). I wrote a check five days ago and still haven't mailed it off (sorry Mollie). I forgot to pick up a pie I had ordered for my family's Thanksgiving dinner (sorry Mom). And here's the kicker: I washed my cell phone in the washing machine. A full-on spin-cycle, when the phone was turned on. After committing to paying for a third line in order to spend $60 and not $370 for a new phone, I spent an hour searching for the thing before I found it in the bowels of the diaper bag. The phone was not even 24-hours old and I had already misplaced it.

It's not surprising that I'm out of sorts this week. After all, I am newly and officially back to work full-time, this coinciding with the week when we watched my Grandfather slowly pass away. But it's none the less unnerving. I set out each day feeling like there's a little grey cloud over my head, wondering what I'm going to miss or forget or drop today. Michael had a ladder set up in the loft upstairs, with the goal of re-threading some cable for an antenna in the attic. The ladder was placed in front of my craft room, which I needed to get to at several points this week. I refused, simply refused, to walk under it. Michael's not confident in my luck, either. When he handed me my wallet the other day, he wouldn't drive off until he saw me walk back through the door, fearing that in following-suit for the week, I would have locked myself out. (I didn't, thank you very much).

But hey, here's some good news: my toe is almost completely healed. This means I can wear shoes other than my Crocs, and my toe isn't in searing pain. Happy day. The only trouble is, now that I can fit into a shoe, I'm just waiting for the other one to drop.