I was mulling over that fact while munching on my veggie burger when it occurred to me that perhaps I'm not currently as emotionally stable as I have lately considered myself. This is becoming frighteningly apparent in the following ways:
1) I cry every day while watching Ellen. Every day. Without fail. And during every SPCA commercial. And occasionally after stumbling upon a particular cute/sad/emotionally moving image or any photo of a woman in a bathing suit on Pinterist. And that time in the doctor's office waiting room when the commercial for the beached dolphins on Cape Cod came on. And that time in the car when I saw the car with the 26.2 bumper sticker. And while browsing Petfinder.com for the kitten that B refuses to let me get who I have already named Theodore Huxtable and he will be orange and he will love me forever. And whenever I talk to my grandparents on the phone. And during the entire Nick Cannon interview on Good Morning America.
2) I am downright starved for attention by the time B gets home from work each night. If he so much as checks his email for too long, I throw myself at his feet in despair. I pretty much stop just short of doing cartwheels through the kitchen in a leopard print leotard to get his attention and affection and that's only because I'm not allowed to do cartwheels right now.
3) 97% of all of my Instagram photos these days are of my dog. I am officially one of "those people."
4) I caught myself talking about Sophie Grace and Rosie for a good 60 minutes before I realized that if Sophie Grace and Rosie are the most interesting thing that happened to me all week then I need to get out more and/or stop drinking during the day.
5) I drink during the day.
So there's that. It's entirely possible that I just think I'm more emotionally balanced and I'm actually teetering on the edge of some entirely new emotional chasm. Who knows.
Also, remember that time I rubbed it in all of your faces that I was soooOOOoo awesome because I had just planned a 10-day backpacking adventure through Guatemala? Yeah well clearly that went out the window and is currently lying dead next to my hopes, dreams, and a foot of my intestines somewhere in a hospital waste container. It didn't happen. What with the surgery and the hole and all that shit.
Thank BAJESUS I had clicked the option for trip insurance, not because I thought there was a possibility that scar tissue would wrap itself around my intestines in an attempt to kill me a few weeks before we were set to leave for Central America, but because I figured insurance might be a good thing to have while in Central America what with all the extreme adventure and likelihood of breaking bones or falling ill or being kidnapped and held for ransom and/or forced to null my marriage with B and marry one of the dirty cartel members and be his little blond slave wife and pop out dirty little babies in the jungle for the rest of my miserable existence. Or at least, that's what my mother seemed to believe would happen. Either way, I expected to experience some gastro-intestinal distress, I just didn't expect it would be before we left the United States.
So we got all of the money back that we spent on flights. And naturally, we went about burning that money as quickly as possible ... by booking a trip to Key West! BOOM! While I was in the hospital B and my friends vigilantly sat at my bedside bribing me to health with the promise of a group vacation once I got better. And if there's one thing I respond to, it's bribery. B and I and six other of some of our favorite people will be heading south for a long weekend of sunshine, cocktails with tiny umbrellas by the pool, and Duval Street revelry. I, for one, am thrilled to finally have a socially acceptable excuse for drinking during the day. Even if it is in a one-piece bathing suit with a protruding belly sitting next to a bunch of beautiful skinny girls in bikinis. I'll take it. Lawd gah almighty, I'll take it.