But that music is very necessary because I don't even know who I am anymore!
Sure I still look like myself in the mirror (if not a slightly worried and blurry version of myself), but that proves nothing. Nothing! I say.
The reason I don't even know who I am anymore is for the following reasons:
(a) I purchased a piece of furniture with the intent to refurbish it. I repeat: I bought something that wasn't in great shape--on purpose--knowing full well it needs some tender lovin' care. Not only that...but I'm excited about this project. Who am I? I'm excited about a project that will be tedious, will require me to care about painting with the grain, and will take away precious evening hours that I normally devote to
watching Teen Mom learning German.
I checked, and I don't have yellow fever.
But I can't rule anything else out.
Maybe I have malaria.
(b) I woke up one morning and thought (in caps lock): "TODAY WILL BE THE DAY I ORGANIZE THE KITCHEN."
But then...I did it.
Also, I scrubbed out the cupboard that holds the garbage bin. I gagged. Then felt very accomplished.
Little Baby, this out-of-character behaviour is totally because of you!
(c) Another morning I woke up and thought (not in caps lock, more with little frowny emoticons): "Today will be the day I deep-clean the bathroom." Sad face.
And then...I did it.
(d) Lately I have a desire to craft stuff. What sort of stuff? I don't know. ANYTHING. I want to make Little Baby something. Dan is much more artistic than I am because he's all about the detail. Normally I am not about detail. Detail bores me and exhausts me to tears. I totally need to be on Ritalin or something...or....hey, look: a bird...
But today? Today, Internet? It's a whole new me. A me who is thinking about going to a store and buying stuff to make LB a mobile. A me who is thinking about going to a store and buying a canvas so that I can paint LB something big and fun, and likely devoted to the ABC's.
The possibility for poor execution is quite high, then Dan will have to step in and finish off the job. But then I'll hang over his shoulder and boss him around and he will go scary-quiet because he is too much of a gentleman to actually curse me out and tell me to finish what I start or let him do it his way.
But I won't be able to let him do it his way because there's one reassuring thing about this week that lets me know, "Yep, the Caitie I know is still in there."
(e) I want it done my way and my way only, and everyone else better toe the effing line.
I am going to be such a great role model!