It was a November Saturday morning not unlike any other; the only difference might be is that the house was full of bodies; a large horde had grown in size that now called my small residence home. Not only did my husband and youngest son live at my dwelling so did my oldest son, his girlfriend, my new granddaughter and my brother-in-law, just within the year. All of which I was supporting on my lone income.

I woke up for the day before anyone else, just like always, even my granddaughter lay asleep in her pack-n-play. The dog looked up anxiously at me with his big brown pouty eyes waiting to be let outside to discharge upon the ground. Not bothering to slip on shoes, it’s cold but as usual I don’t seem care, I open the front door and step out. Frost had blanketed the ground overnight and as soon as my warm barefoot touched the frosty stair the scientific outcome was inevitable. Slick doesn’t even begin to describe the outcome of the metamorphosis of warmth meeting cold.

My footing faltered without warning, the change in consistency of the frosty blanket to dicey wetness occurred faster than the blink of an eye. I didn’t even get my second foot out the door before the other was out from under me and I tumbled down the four stairs, falling hard upon the concrete patio below.

I had somehow managed to put my hands out just in time to catch myself before my cranium hit the arctic concrete patio. I lay with my cheek pressed against the bitter icy solid ground. Despite the lack of damage to my skull I lay there with a foggy haze running through my mind. As things became clearer I started to take an inventory of the damage. My knees throbbed and right ankle spasm and left arm and hands were like hamburger, in fact every inch of skin that made contact with the concrete patio and staircase looked and felt like it had been run through a cheese grater. As the shock of the fall wore off and the pain of each injury kicked in only one thought pounded in my brain… “Damn, I’m still alive.”

Sucking in a gasping breath reality hit me like a cast-iron frying pan, I had meant it. I really was cursing my ill fated survival and at that moment I began to sob loudly. Even though physically I could have gotten up on my own the shock of my profound realization had left me unable to move. I lay cheek still firmly rest against the icy ground as I called out sobbingly for help.

It didn’t take long before my gentle giant youngest teenage son heard me and rushed outside to pick me up off the ground. I hugged him tightly around the rib cage and sobbed for a moment, then let him guide me up the stairs and back into the house.

I watch with bated breath, standing against a wall with no out, staring through the spinning blades of a large rotating fan. Dread and despair wash over me as the continuous pile of defecation is being formed on the other side. Pinned against the wall with no means to stop it and no manner in which to move out of the onslaught as it is spattered at me at rate that far exceeds the speed of any jet plane known to man…

What the hell am I still doing here? Seems like the same question I ask daily. I feel like I spend most of my days angry and bitter, and I don’t like it! The once happy go lucky personality that used to show in my face is now just a mask, like a suit of armor, because I know that if I acted how I felt people would know I was upset and it would make things worse than they already are.

I am being splattered with the same shit from all facets of my life, with no rain coat being provided for protection nor a bar of soap to be able to wash off the stench! I describe my life as the movie “Groundhog’s Day” on steroids, and Mr. Bill Murray’s character in the film hasn’t got anything on me!

Between the constant stress at the office and the continuing battles at home I am feeling less and less like sticking around. And the rhetorical question “What is the meaning of life?” that I use to casually wonder about has changed to “What the hell is the point?” The only answer I come up with seems to scream out of me “The meaning of life is to be crapped on, run down, worn out then slid into a dirt nap when your body can’t take anymore.”

When the body can’t take it anymore, what about the mind? What the heck condition will my head be in at the end? I am already a space cadet, and I try caulking it up to dizzy blonde-ness or old age, but the truth is I am just starting to look ridiculously stupid! You can pawn off the once and a while brain farts to a childish excuses but when those same brain farts keep happening over and over, several times a day, one starts to look the part of a childish idiot with no intelligence what so ever.

One has to wonder when they have gotten to the point of no return. When is it more than just being tired, just being crapped on, when are you losing your mind? I use to think of myself as sharp as a double edged sword, being sharp as a tack was never good enough and it only served one purpose where as I was a super multi-tasker who could perform a dozen things at once and be quick witted about it. Wits, what are those? I am starting wonder if I truly ever had them.

Bat Shit, that’s what I am, completely bat shit crazy! No I am not ready for the straight jacket, nor am I a danger to society, but am I the double edged sword multi-tasking whirl wind I use to be? Not a chance in any level of hell. Whirlwind, yes, running around like a chicken with my head cut off, most definitely!

They say it’s alright to talk to yourself if you don’t answer back, but as one can see, yes I am holding both sides of the conversation. Partly because I know how ridiculous I sound and I do not want anyone else to know what is twisting around in this head of mine. The other reason I continue to have conversations with myself is I can’t believe that others suffer from the same issue, the same childish idiotic stupidity. Sure there are many levels of intelligence in the world, but when you once believed you were considered amongst those that reside on the higher levels of intelligence and you seem to have plummeted into the basement, things are a little more warped.

Let’s just suffice it to say my confidence level is shot! My glory days are over, and in my early forties I am feeling like I should retire and give it all over to the next generation of sharp as a double edged sword super multi-taskers. Problem is there are still bills to pay, and there is no way in hell I have enough to retire, and I probably will never have enough. So where does that leave my brain now?

An ex – sharp as a double edged sword super multi-tasker makes for an exceedingly dizzy whirlwind of stupidity, one who can do an obscene amount of stupid things all at once! It also means I can still multi-task, and now come up with different ways to chastise myself and remember in a multitude of ways all at once just how idiotic I truly am. So maybe I am ready for that straight jacket now, lock me up and throw away the key.

And of course just moments ago I did it again, my tongue got wrapped around my eye tooth and I couldn’t see what I was saying. Instead of intelligent jesting I sounded like a blabbering idiot! I’m tired of sounding ridiculous! Maybe I should become a hillbilly and play with my wildlife creatures, and talk to them alone… Just like Elli May and her critters, they will not care if my diction is correct, or if I start blubbering like an idiot. They’ll just love me because I am there for them. Then, just maybe, I can have a conversation with them and someone besides me could understand and answer back; even if it were to just chattering or growls.

A colleague of mine called himself the most pessimistic person I will ever meet and I swear I all but challenged him to a duel for that title. Problem with in sighting this challenge would be that these scribbling would be my proof, and I am not about to share this to prove how much lack of optimism I truly have.