They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab and I Said HELL, YEAH! I am PACKED!

I'm tired.

Right now it's Good Tired, where every nonsensical thing I mutter out loud still cracks me up uncontrollably, but in a little while we're going to flip over to Bad Tired, and I'm going to fall asleep with my face in my soup.

Most of the time, this single parenting shit is easy-breezy, only because I have no real concept of what it's like to not be the only responsible adult in the house, and I can't remember leaving home after 7pm anyway. Sometimes, work schedules, illness, family plans, holidays, birthdays, and school closings come together in the perfect storm, and I find myself not remembering whether or not I've already used shampoo, why the car won't shut off when it's still in drive, or if I ate today.

Usually, I love watching Intervention, because it's always fantastic to see people who are a hell of a lot more fucked up than I am. It's like going to the beach and standing next to the fattest person you can find. Lately, though, I've really started to resent these vodka-swilling, heroin-injecting, crystal meth-smoking assbags.

Here's why:

A) I have to be sober, all the time.

B) I have to use my money for food and gas.

C) No one enables me. I would really like an enabler. I'm not even picky about what they'd be enabling.

D) When things get really bad, crackheads go to a ranch in California for three months to rest and talk about their feelings, and insurance (or A&E) pays for it.

I want to talk about my feelings. I need a freaking nap like nobody's business. I want to sit around all day in my yoga pants drinking Methadone and getting all introspective.

Why do the junkies get a vacation?

I'm going to go mainline some more Red Bull and get back to work.

SO HOOOOOOOOOLD ON! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD ON!!!!!!!

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.............