It's a term coined by Bobita. I like it.
Yesterday after church potluck I got engaged in a conversation with a group of about eight women sitting in a circle. (only one or two of which I really knew very well). I got sort of caught up in what I was saying- maybe a little carried away with the passion of it, and threw in a word or two like "dammit" and "shitty". As the words escaped my parted lips, I sort of heard and saw myself in slow motion, as if from a distance.... but just barged on ahead, carried forward by the momentum of what I was saying.
Methinks I may have forgotten to use some church etiquette. Not for myself, but maybe out of consideration for the others who I subjected to my "common-folk" semantics. And dwelling on it, trying to decide whether I had been inappropriate or not, and what I should do about it, I began to feel a case of "suckitude" settling down on me.
That afternoon we took our kids to the pool for a swim time. Not only was I subjected to the character building exercise of wearing a bathing suit in public, I wasn't even able to indulge in a good old-fashioned game of calling myself a long list of unflattering words. (I gave it up for lent) To compound the stress, our beautiful, adolescent princess was also in one of her moods. We had to listen to her go on and on about how we should have waited for her friend to get home and come along with us so that she wouldn't have to PERISH from the unbearable boredom of hanging out with her family. (wearing her "ancient " bathing suit, on top of it all.)
After swimming everyone was just too itchy to go straight to sleep. Micah was worried about school the following day. Sam played loudly in bed with his plastic army men. The girls kept flying out of their bedrooms remembering crucial and vital bits of information that they needed to share with me immediately. I actually began to look forward to Monday. They would go off to school and I could fill my day with more simple, manageable toddler things. Read stories. Eat snacks. Make play dough snakes.
Monday morning. Children are piling into their respective clumps of outdoor gear. Micah is slumped on the floor no where near his backpack or snowpants. The slightest bit of questioning brings forth tears of tremendous drama. This guy is stressed out about school. Even the impending loss of gameboy and computer priveleges is not worth getting his butt off to the schoolhouse.
Well, I was feeling kind of sucky anyway. I may as well phone his teacher, tell her that Micah is tired of listening to her yell at kids, that he doesn't understand his math work, that he wants to quit school, and go work full-time at Chicken Chef deep-frying stuff.
That can of worms fully opened, I forget that I'd invited a friend over for coffee until she shows up to the tune of me grinding my teeth over Micah's hysterical tears.
Treatment options anyone?