I'm officially out of sorts. Adrift. Nothing feels normal. Perhaps I'm experiencing a dangerous build-up of minutiae. If I could at least talk to Chris (in Africa for two weeks)I could get some of it off my chest. Like, I saw a man get his neck waxed - who knew? Or, I got a new driver's license and I don't look like a stroke victim in the picture. Or, Hank learned to play Dueling Banjos and has practiced. A lot. Really. Or, Jack made up a new way to say that someone is crazy, "Man, your milk is outta date!"
TV usually helps, but it's all Olympics here. Exciting? Yes. Normal? No.
One remedy to feeling out of sorts is laundry, but all the clothes are clean. And ironed. And folded. And put away.
I thought getting my new computer would help. Nope. Added to it. Nothing looks right. It reminds me of the time I tried to change alarm clocks. Lasted two days.
Sigh. So I guess I just lean into the weird. Embrace the abnormal. Count down the days until the husband returns, the Olympics end, the clothes are dirty again, and this blasted Windows 7 is familiar.