I'm pretty sure I am on a little winding back road to Crazy Town, and it would be safe to say that my poor husband would agree. Poor fella. One minute I am charming, funny, nice, full of life, nice, pretty, thin, nice, happy, nice and the next ... SHAZAAMM ... I am totally bananas and want to start a whole new life, except with an already made 9 and 5 year old. Trey (my husband) probably thinks that I am having a "Mid-Life Crisis" do-watchy, but I don't really like to say "mid-life" anything. Mainly that is because who is to say when the middle of my life really is? I am 37 now so does that mean I'm kicking the vodka bottle at 74? And, most importantly, I would like to save my mid-life crisis for much later in life when my children have children so I can really shake things up a bit. Don't judge me, those little white hair inducing rascals deserve it! No, I'll have a nice little "Sally's going nuts" episode now and wait for the doozy later.
Now don't start dialing Dorothea Dix and looking up straight jackets just yet, I mean everyone is entitled to a little crazy-spell now and then right? It's not like I want to buy a cow and start drinking unpasteurized milk in my tepee and shark tooth bedazzled Mu Mu with Corn and Barley, my children formerly known as Carl and Annie. But I do find myself getting a little crazy itch where I want to sell everything, buy a suped-up Van and just cruise to parts unknown. How hard could it possibly be? Trey could grow a beard, I could start braiding my hair and wearing Stevie Nicks inspired attire, and the kids would let their hair grow long and wear bathing suits all day. Sounds awesome to me. Oh sure the novelty would wear off after the first tussle with a bear while salmon fishing in Washington State or run-in with a whale while trying out our twig and gum wrapper dingy in Maine, but who doesn't have those problems? Bring it on! The open road would be our teacher. Learn by experience. We could teach Annie to read from billboards!
Probably my best bet would be to have a good old hissy-fit, complete with lots of bad words, alcohol, really ugly crying and an old Patrick Dempsey movie. I should just get a Life Coach. My own Jiminey Cricket that preferably looks like Brad Pitt, pre-Angelina thank you very much.
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