As I was chopping onions for tomorrow's fig cornbread stuffing, Tim kept teasing me about crying, all of my tears. "You ain't seen nothin'," I thought to myself as I continued to chop. I felt as if I cried a good portion of the day. Not that crying is anything particularly new. I am quite spent and wrung out, not very chipper, hopeful, or philosophical.
I suppose you could say that I am at a loss.
The day very nearly got away from me. But another load of laundry was completed. Shopping was done. And my mien was reasonable as Tim and I made pies and planned the rest of tomorrow's meal.
I tried taking a relaxing bath to soothe away some sorrow. Now the bath tub won't drain. And plunging it didn't help either. Am I stuck in a Neil Simon play (I was going to write a bad Neil Simon play but they are all bad).
