Funny story about Turbo and random purple rashes on his hands and feet that don't hurt or itch, but kinda turn into weird teeny white blisters that don't hurt, that he picks at giving his hands that picked-skin look I find so queasy-inducing.
He said "MOM, what is HAPPENING to me?"
and I said "I don't know..."
and introduced him to WebMD...kidding...
I have been checking him daily, sometimes twice, but they seem to be going down. Just... dark purple rashes...file under 'weird kid things that magically go away after freaking mom out.'
I hate waking up in the middle of the night. I know I'm not the only one that does. I have e-mails and Facebook posts to prove it.
Tonight I woke up because before I left work I read an article on how the ultra-wealthy are a) not Americans and b) going to American schools and c) ruling our economy and d) that's why the middle class is going away and e) we're all doomed because before we can do anything about it, giant Pulsar Waves of Doom will wipe out all technology, and omigosh I'm never going to have money, I'll be educated and broke and living in poverty and have to retire in squalor because my brilliant sons won't have the money to go to a good college and take care of me in my old age, because they will be forced to be modern revolutionaries in the post-pulsar America driving old hum-vees, SUVs and Jeep-vees, wearing the same jeans and duster coats for weeks on end.
They'll probably smoke, too, because with the demise of technology, all the warnings about how bad smoking is for you will have disappeared, and they won't listen to me because I'm just an old naggy anxious ninny at that point railing on about old fish-wives tales about smoking being bad and once, before the Pulsar Waves of Doom, America had rivers and lakes....
Also, my assignments for my writing workshop were due TONIGHT and I didn't get them turned in because, hey, I didn't have time to read any of it, and while I did email the teacher my ideas, with questions ,I didn't do the submissions because I haven't had time (thank you, school town hall meeting, daughter's talent show and etc etc) I should have just done them over the weekend. So even though it's not a graded class, I'm stressed because I missed a deadline and aaaahhh.
Then I thought, OMIGOSH how do I think I could even make money at this?
Then I went into 'OMIGOSH' I haven't even written more on my novel, even though I have this great scene I need to do where main character gets into a fender bender, and never mind the guilt I'm having because even though I want to write more 'serious' stuff, the things that come to mind are scenes for that fun book, and we all know fun is not serious, and evil, and and... ahhhh.
I hate insomnia.
Do I even answer this crazy email sent at 2:12 a.m. from this work person with a crazy response at 2:46 a.m. that says, hey, like you, I'm neurotic and anxious? Maybe I can just say, do you know what time it is? Go back to bed!