Can you immmmmagine?

I have to start by apologizing for my hiatus. I decided, without warning or really any planning, to treat myself to a summer a holiday away from my blog posts and really anything resembling intelligible thought.

Instead, thanks to the outrageously affordable cases of Heineken found at the Quebec Costco, Mike and I basically drank our faces off this summer and managed to renovate the kitchen (my dream come-true). I realize that sounds like a bad judgment call on our part but, let me assure you, one is never to attempt a renovation of that magnitude without the glorious aid of alcohol. That and marriage counseling both before and after said renovation.

 

Now in case you’ve assumed that Mike and I have separated (which would be entirely IKEA’s fault), I should let you know that we’re still going strong. Admittedly I’m half surprised at the truth of my latter statement because having two small children and no kitchen for six weeks took its toll on our family. Come to think of it, the alcohol is likely what saved us. I won’t get into too much detail about the emotional rollercoaster that was our renovation, but 7500 tiny boxes covered in Swedish jargon stacked on every available surface in my home was, without a doubt, a middle-class nightmare.

I probably should expand on that and what became the theme of our summer. Based on an SNL skit I watched a few years ago, Mike and I have lately been referring to the aforementioned problems as “first world problems”. I know how that must sound, but it’s done wonders at keeping things in perspective. It helps to follow the stated complaint by saying (with an exaggerated, pretentious, slightly obnoxious british-inflection) “Can you immmmmmmagine?” Not only is it ridiculous, it takes the edge off and, like I said earlier, keeps things in a healthy perspective. I recommend you try it the next time you catch yourself complaining about something silly. Like a renovation. Why not just complain about having too much money? “Can you immmmmmmagine? We just don’t know what to do with all of our money!”  See what I mean? Thank you, SNL.

Anyway, in keeping with the theme of my writing, I digress. The kitchen is nearly complete and Sam is eating significantly less drywall than he was a few months ago. So at least that’s something.

The point of this post was to let you know that I haven’t abandoned my blog; I just needed a break. Unfortunately the break lasted longer than I had anticipated and I developed an interesting complex in place of inspiration. It was as if insecurity and anxiety had deciced to raise their ugly love-child in my brain. Obviously inhabiting the area where wit and confidence had been unexpectedly evicted from. How you ask? I have no idea. So in this sad little self-deprecating state, I decided that I’m a terrible writer and everyone hates my blog. How’s that for honesty?

Before you begin to feel sorry for me (or agree with me), I assure you today is the day I’ve conquered my ridiculousness. EVERYONE, at one time or another, finds themselves riddled with insecurity. I think it might be what makes us normal. If you’re not, well good for f’ing you! (Yikes, that came out of nowhere). Seriously though, send me your secret so that I may share it with the rest of the world.

Again, I digress. A lot has happened over the last few months but I’ll have to save it for the next post because I feel like this is already a novel. Speaking of which I’m struggling through the last book of the Fifty Shades of Grey triology and I literally want to cause physical harm to the “inner goddess” and “subconscious” whom have managed to find a way to annoy me at least three times on each page (which is a lot). Should the writer of these books be reading this, which I imagine is not the case  because she’s likely instead enjoying a money-shower, I’d just like to say SERIOUSLY? SERIOUSLY??? Mike and I have been together nine years, but he has never “cupped my sex” nor do I want him to. I think I speak for everyone when I say WHAT?

 I won’t go into great detail of the long list of issues I have with those books but, my goodness, they are terrible. Also I’m reading them. So basically you win, E.L. James. Well played.