I stumbled out on to the deck Friday morning to drink my cup of coffee. I was clinging to it as if my life depended on it. I was trying to snap out of my sleep-deprived, medicine-induced hangover. Riley and I had been up all night and I had taken something to help me sleep before he awoke all sickly. I was sipping my coffee and talking myself through my necessary to-do list for the day, when I heard someone scream. Four times. This wasn't an excited, I-just-won-the-lottery!-scream. Nuh-uh. This was a blood-curdling, horror movie shriek. Like someone just stumbled upon a dead body. There. That did it. I am awake. Seeing as how I didn't hear sirens, I came to the familiar conclusion that the Crazy Lady was off her meds. Again.
The Crazy Lady earned her well-deserved nickname. I have witnessed symptoms of her psychosis first-hand and on several occasions. She rides up and down the streets of the neighborhood on patrol. Looking for vampires? Zombies? Aliens? I'm not sure. This probably wouldn't be all that weird, except she hangs a towel on the driver's-side window and pulls the side of it over to peek out. Nuts. Then there's the conversations she has . . . with someone. I'm pretty sure it has to be with the voices in her head, because I certainly don't see anyone accompanying her. She likes to ride her bike around the 'hood (in a sundress--always in a sundress. If it's twenty degrees outside, she's in a sundress . . . . and a turtleneck.) while having this dialogue. The Wicked Witch of the West music from The Wizard of Oz always runs through my head when I see her do this. Off. Her. Rocker. It's a little unnerving, to say the least. (She recently ran for local public office. Fantastic. She lost . . . . whew!).
I was on my way to run an errand and meet a girlfriend* for coffee this afternoon, when this idiot comes barrelling down the road at lightning speed and is riding inches from my bumper. He lays on his horn several times. As if I can go any faster than the car in front of me will allow. Oh naw. Hell naw. Somebody is figna get cut. Today ain't the day, and I ain't the girl, asshole. This infuriated me. To the point that I honestly contemplated pulling over and following his punk ass to wherever it was he was in such a hurry to get to, and . . . . . and, what? I didn't know. I just had an overwhelming urge to cuss somebody. Or hurt somebody. Bad. Whoa. Waitaminute. How did I get here?? In this mental state?? Ready to cut a stranger for bein' a jerk?? And then I remembered. No sleep in three days+sick baby+not feelin' so hot myself=loony mama.
It has been a harrowing weekend. Riley has been great, for the most part. He's certainly not acting sick . . . . until naptime or bedtime. He can't breathe through his snotty little nose, which makes falling asleep a little frustrating for him. Then he gets overly tired and nothing will do. Not singing, not music, playing, rocking, bouncing, his cherished swing, nothing. My baby crying gets under my skin. It's not just any cry, it's a certain cry. The crying, oh the crying. He had a stint so long this afternoon he's hoarse. Pitiful.
My husband tries to help. "Do you think it's ___________?", he offers.
Um, I've already unsuccessfully attempted to fix the fifty things I thought might be the cause of his displeasure. If I honestly had a clue as to what it was, I'd be in the process of trying to fix it, now wouldn't I? Yeah, I'm fresh out of ideas here, pal.
He's only trying to offer me some assistance, I know. This line of questioning only fans the flame of my frustration and adds to my feelings of inadequacy.
My baby's been sick, I am sick, and have had no sleep. While contemplating all of this in the midst of my road rage this afternoon, I feel all of the frustration, fatigue, and anger rise to a peak in my chest. Heart pounding, chest-tightening anxiety. I haven't felt panic-y in quite a long time. I needed a release, and quick.
I screamed. Screeeeeaaaamed. Alone in my car, while driving down the road. It felt so good I did it again. This reminded me of Crazy Lady and then I laughed out loud. I laughed 'til tears were streaming down my face.
From one lunatic to another: I feel ya Crazy Lady. I feel ya.
*Pat, you probably saved a life today. Or kept me from going to jail.
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