Day before yesterday, my son and I were in our guest bedroom, folding clothes. He was snuggled in, watching cartoons, and I was doing my best at sorting clothes. I needed a trash bag, so I walked exactly ten steps to the closet in the hall to get one.

I was just reaching for the handle of the closet, when I heard a horrible noise. And what was it?? I turned around and my son is buried underneath a television and a dresser. I picked up the (heavy) TV and hurled it across the room (seriously), moved the dresser, and picked up my baby.

He's fine.

I deducted that he probably pulled out the bottom drawer of the dresser to climb up to get the remote on the top of the television, and everything came crashing down.

I'm not fine. I threw my back out and feel like complete crap.

And really, since about 48 hours ago, everything has been shitty. The house is falling apart. My body is aching. My car is making funny noises.

I'm grumpy.

Yesterday, I got into an altercation on Colfax with an old man driving. I've parked on the side of the street, at a meter. I walk around the back of my car to get in the driver's side. I'm walking RIGHT NEXT TO my car. I'm practically humping my car I'm so close to it, right?

Grandpa Graybush freaks the fuck out, must be thinking I'm going to cross the street in front of him (huh?) so he lays on the horn as he goes by. It's all I can think of. Some homeless guy sitting by the building I just came out of yells, "HEY! GUESS YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO GET IN YOUR CAR! HAHAHAHA!". No shit.

Grandpa Graybush needs to rethink his ability to drive. Considering they were all stopping at a red light anyway!! I flipped him off later, because, well, I'm grumpy and I can.

My son woke up today in a fine mood, crying and yelling, "NOOOOOO!!" at everything.

"Do you want your milk?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
"Do you want cartoons?"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

It's only 9:15 a.m. My husband called and asked me what was on the 'agenda' for today.

My answer?

SURVIVAL.