I sold my jeep today. Really, it was silly to hold onto it for so long, I mean, it's not very practical to have a '95 Jeep when, the majority of the time, you're carting around 4 little ones. I guess a part of me held onto it because it was my "toy", and the other part was because it reminded me of the past. I bought it back when I was seperated from my husband. It wasn't a pretty seperation, and none of it was my idea at the time. I was devastated. I was hurt. It was horrible. I had wrapped my whole identity up in being "the wife of" and I had basically lost myself, so when the seperation happened, I fell apart. It was ugly. But, after some time had passed, I started to get my act together. I started taking care of myself. I made some new friends, I re-kindled friendships long forgotten, I learned how to laugh. And I made an astonishing discovery...I'm a good person. I'm a worthy person. I am smart and funny and kind, and I didn't deserve the shit I'd been putting up with. And I didn't deserve what it did to my self-esteem. And I didn't deserve being last in line. And most importantly, I didn't deserve to lose myself. And I started getting better. I started laughing more. I made big and important plans. I made silly jokes. I made lots of cookies. I made my kids laugh and sing and dance. I found myself, and I liked what I found. And that's when I bought the jeep. So I think I've been scared. Scared to let go of the tangible reminder of that time...the time that started off as the worst in my life, but ended up as the best thing that ever happened to me. I've been scared that by letting it go, I'd be giving up the lesson. Scared that I'd be selling my soul in the front seat of a '95 jeep. And it seems so silly, really. To identify so much with a kicky little car that you're scared when it leaves, that a piece of you will follow. So, today, I say goodbye. And I hope the memory I have is enough to keep me from forgetting what terrible and horrible things can happen to a person when they forget to care about themself. And I hope the memory I have is enough to keep me from forgetting how I felt with the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, after spending so much time in the dark. I hope I remember that I'm good and kind and funny. I hope I remember to bake cookies with my children and to dance around the kitchen table. I hope I remember to take long walks in the sun and to run so fast I can feel the wind in my hair. I hope.

Oh my god, I'm getting an ulcer. DH is off today and he wants to drill a new hole in the house (our dryer venting is set up really stupid...like it travels 300 feet and makes 14 turns, and is all clogged up and overheated my dryer, so instead of taking it all down, cleaning it and replacing it, and having to repeat the process every 4 months, we decided to just run a vent out the near side of the house, where it should have been done in the first place). Here's the thing though...he's going to screw it up. I hate to say that, but he will, and I asked him not to do it until I'm there, and he's all offended and screaming "I can do it", but he can't. he really really cant. this is totally my department. I mean, last night he came in the house and said "The motor in the miter saw just burnt up right in the middle of a cut" (he was cutting firewood). 10 minutes later my son said "the tv downstairs won't turn on"...DH gets all fired up that everything's burning up, having a total fit. so I said "umm, two things not working at the same time could mean you popped a fuse...did you check the breaker" to which he replied "where's the breaker?" Seriously. this is my department and I don't want him doing this. it's gonna be so screwed up and now my belly's upset cuz it'll take me $200 and 3 weeks to fix whatever he's going to screw up. I need to go cry now.

I got tanked on Friday. I've found that after 4 or 5 vodka's you care substantially less about the pain in your shoulder, that just refuses to go away. At 4:00 in the morning, I got up, took some Tylenol, drank a water and ate a Cadbury Egg. You know, cuz there's nothing better when your stomach is threatening to revolt, then a sugary glob wrapped in a chocolate shell.

So I'm standing at the checkout of Walgreens with a super econo sized box of feminine hygiene products, a diet coke, and a Take 5 candy bar. Now, personally, I would see the hygiene products and the chocolate and figure "well, yeah, that makes perfect sense", but apparently not everyone knows that chocolate is the cure for the pms that ails ya. The lady behind the counter said "oh, are those Take 5's any good" to which I replied "they're my total favorite!". So she says to me "are they like a diet bar?" and then I had to kill her.

First, I thought, maybe I should explain to her that I was going to eat it with a balanced portion of protein so that it would still fit into my nutritional plan, and then I thought, why the hell do I have to rationalize my candy bar to her? Who is she? The calorie police? Bitch.