stupid pumpkin

by willeya

i’ve heard it said that women are like the discovery channel: filled with wonder and once a month it’s shark week.

well, that may resonate with ben but it feels more like dying puppy week to me.

the toaster done makes me jump.  the missing cell phone makes me panic.  the kind word makes me cry.  the last coffee k-cup makes me despair. facebook makes me lonely. and that stupid pumpkin makes me mad.

the ginormous neck pumpkin taking up my counter cranes to taunt me.  it tells me i don’t have what it takes to turn it into a pie.  i know, i tell it.  what was i thinking? i don’t know the first thing about crusts. and then i realize i’m the human and it’s the pumpkin. so i yell at him for taking that tone with me.

i learn {no thank you fb} that my mother-in-law’s best friend’s daughter’s best friend took a dancing class once. scraping the end of the peanut butter jar with my fingers, i wonder if i’ll ever dance like she.  i squint into the page to see who i’m comparing myself to.  oh yes yes – her.

it’s noon and i am ready for bed.  i think i’ll slip under the covers and be gone for the week. letting my bruised emotions soak in unconsciousness until they are healed.

i am almost gone when that craning disrespectful pumpkin takes one more jab. it reminds me that i can’t make a pie, which reminds me that my husband’s birthday is tomorrow, which wakes me fully.

i should show up for that.

{in all seriousness it’s been a really hard week.  i could use prayers from those who know and love me most.  thank you}

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