I Am A Hot Mess

Do you know what is worse than getting a hair cut that is too short? So short that the fact you have a freakish small head now becomes painfully obvious and will surely mark you for ridicule among friends and co-workers if you do not quickly learn to manage it with hair product? So short that you just may be mistaken for a gym teacher or golf pro?

Well that could be getting a call from Zowie telling me that my favorite grandson is getting in huge trouble at school, and is showing signs of aggression and frustrations that are now causing expulsion and suspensions. So Fat Cat freaks out and determines that we need to get that boy over here and let him get that aggression out riding and running. So what is worse than Fat Cat buying a mini bike that he cannot afford so he can 'help' this young man?

Could be finding out that your cousin (on your father's side) murdered his wife and then killed himself? Oh, yes, that is worse. And you are at work when you hear and you cannot believe it so you call his mother and she bursts into tears. You spend several evenings going to their house and letting his parents talk, because listening with compassion is your strength and all you really can give them. Your heart breaks seeing their pain and your stomach turns as they go over and over the details because no one else will talk to them about it. And you bake cakes and fudge and treats and take them with you because you are channelling your mother and all you can do to comfort them. They are in such shock and there could not be much worse that could happen.

Unless in the middle of all this you get some sort of viral infection that makes your ears feel as if they are bleeding and lowers your voice about 3 octaves to where you sound like a man, a scary cigar smoking whisky drinking man. (with terribly short man hair, OMG, I am turning into a guy) And you are trying to work and worry and think and be compassionate, and you are starting to fade fast in to the abyss of Niquil. And you think, my good, could this be any more horrific of a week?

And then you get a call, from your doctor, at work of course, that you mammogram is not right and there is something there, and you now have to go back for an ultrasound, and possible biopsy. And yes this is worse, and of course, your mind goes into a complete melt down because, well, you are high on cold medications and you have seen all those life time channel movies, and you know you have been having pain. Which is why you went in the first place, because there was something going on. Sweet Jesus great news this is.

So I have seriously stopped asking could it get worse. In the last 10 days I have just been spinning out of control. Miss me????