WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS? (I’m talking to my brain cells here–not you, dear readers!) Ahem. I mean, hey you smart little guys up in my head. I’m concerned about you! Are you feeling okay? Gosh, I wish there was something I could do to help you. Maybe I should eat more salmon… or go for a run. Would you like that?

I am literally and figuratively losing it. Here’s the deal: I typically spend a solid half hour a day, at least, looking for my keys, phone, wallet, Stella’s sippy cup that I just filled, her Godforsaken “paci-binky” and/or sunglasses that I just put down. It’s inevitable. Thirty minutes is absolutely not an exaggeration. It’s a minimum.

Lately, I’ve been getting worse. My rage level is rising with each desperate, irate scouring of the house for items that are often right in front of my face. Things that were in my hands not two mintues before. Sometimes, I start to hyperventilate just a bit. I always want to cry, but I can’t, because I’m too pissed off.

A rage tsunami is forming. But I’ll be glad when it hits, because the wave of anger will surely wash all of our belongings into the street. They’ll be spread out and easier to find.

This is out of control!