girls in their summer clothes

It is May 1. I would like to think it should be warm enough outside to wear summer clothes but the air out there is not in agreeance. This morning I was driving Amelia to school, in our winter attire, and naturally we were listening to Bruce Springsteen. I was singing very loud-like and the child asked me to stop.

Which was rude, right?

So I turned the music down and a conversation began.

Me: You know Amelia, if daddy ever dies this guy who's singing is going to be your new father.

Amelia, slightly, if not fully, confused: He is??

Me: Yep. And he will sing to me every day because I deserve to be sung to everyday. By Bruce. And your new last name will be Springsteen. As will mine. And it will be awesome. Right?

Amelia, by this point was in full blown panic mode: IT WILL NOT BE AWESOME.

Me: But why ever not?

Amelia: Because everything I have written Amelia Dabels on will BE WRONG! And plus, I don't even know how to spell it....

Me, pulling up to the school: Umm, okay then....

And then she got out and was gone. I hope her day isn't ruined.

Off I went to the doctor to get a pharmaceutical that will allow me to board a plane because as of yesterday at 3 pm someone hit the panic button somewhere in the universe and I cannot seem to convince myself that planes do, in fact, stay up in the air. They don't all come crashing down to earth from very high places allowing me more minutes than is humanely necessary to come to terms with my vicious and ferocious end.

Speaking of vicious and ferocious, over a week ago I was contorting my body in an unnatural and slightly precarious way. Without getting into details I couldn't possibly begin to explain without blowing your mind, I will tell you that I knocked, with my shoulder, an unopened can of Diet Pepsi from upon my bedside table right onto my pinky finger which was with my hand on the floor holding up my body which was, as previously mentioned, precariously perched upon my bed.

The pain was inexplicable. Ask the man, he was there. (This is not a sexual reference in any way. I was studying and he was interrupting, as per usual.) I writhed around and held my breath and felt the curses bubbling up from the deepest most inner recesses of my curse kingdom. My eyes watered and I begged the universe to just let me live. "Please, for the love! I will give you anything if you just let me survive this horrific pop incident" I offered up my first born, willingly I might add (she can be difficult as of late) if I could just get through the pain. "When is it going to end? When? Ohhhhh, whennnnnnn?" I begged while writhing on the bed. The man offered no words but a look of support I will always be grateful for. He even offered to hold my hair while I puked.

My very short hair. Although, I did feel pain puke was imminent...

Anyway, I toughed it out. However, I lost all feeling in the tip of my pinky for many many days. Even today the tippiest tip is tingly and numb. And when I hold it up, at an awkward angle, towards my face, palm facing back and to the left, with my elbow down and to the right I get sparks that shoot up into it and I don't find it at all pleasing.

So basically, I just don't do that.

Now, it is three more sleeps until I board a plane, fully medicated and probably ridiculously giddy from  excitement accompanied with a mood altering substance. So, in the meantime, please excuse me. I need to teach the child how to spell Springsteen while I wait for my vicious pinky injury to heal.

Good day.