I’m cranky, overwhelmed, irritable, exhausted & feel like crying.

For. No. Reason.

Maybe there are 1800 reasons. Maybe the one cat won’t stop meowing & the other threw up in the bed. Maybe I have so many appointments to get to so I’ll feel better physically & emotionally; except I have little time to rest. Or when there *is* time, I (a) feel guilty for resting or (b) wake up anxious & afraid that I’m totally alone in this world and/or everything will crumble at the out breath.

Maybe there are always so many things to organize, plan, think about, make happen. Maybe I try to beat the clock on Lake Shore Drive. Or cringe when the television’s on in the other room — you know how commercials get progressively louder?

I fear summer & hate it when people yell through the front gate: “Mama, it’s me — your daughter! Will you buzz me in? Hey — Mama? It’s me!”

This world? Is too much. I shouldn’t listen to NPR when there’s (a) a tragedy (Myanmar, China, Tornado Alley) or (b) a political season.

[Bumper sticker: Republican = Man exploits Man; Democrat = Exactly the opposite.]

How do people do this life? & especially how do people with (a) children (b) lives way busier & more complicated than mine (c) people with less privilege … get by?

My god, when J & I met, he was always content to “get by.” & I was always pushing to “thrive.” Of course I want to thrive, but now I understand how “getting by” is really a helluva lot to take on.

$4.09 for gas? & the CTA’s all rerouted. Or there’s only me & one other guy on the bus, & he’s decided to sit right next to me. Which leaves like 38 empty seats. & I’ve been crying.

Also, remember, nothing’s particularly wrong. There’s me & my red shoes & red rash & red eyes & red pen & red bag, which really has a lot of purple mixed in. You know how I shake things up a little.

You know how I shake.

Good god, I’m glad last week is over.

Listen, Chicago, the perfect picnic manager, like the perfect traveler, has made simplification an exact science. She knows very well that the one thing to do is to take the fewest things possible and to consider the utility of those few.

& just for the record, I prefer a conundrum to a conniption.

*

Last week *was* good insofar as I got to see my girl R. She & I have the kind of long-distance friendship where we can go months without contact, but then pick right back up without a lapse when the time comes. We talked for four straight hours & I tell ya, I could’ve gone for four straight more. Or fourteen. Or forty.

She probably doesn’t even know how she stopped last week from unribboning — I mean just by happening to be in town & happening to have time for lunch & an afternoon with me after I happened to call in sick.

Last week was complicated, yo. & it wasn’t fancy complicated, like a silk brocade skirt & feathered heels & thunder; it was pink flame puff paint & band aids in your rain boots. & sometimes the right person shows up at the right time with an umbrella, holding the door.

*

You probably expect me to mention it, & this year I probably wouldn’t, except today, at the Food4Less, the cashier said, “Happy Mother’s Day if you’re a mother.” I smiled & just said, “Oh. Thank you.” & then she said two more times, “Happy Mother’s Day.”

Her intentions were pure; that much I know was true.

*

Of course, if in your own heart you don’t want to play games, you won’t be able to make anyone else want to — and that is in fact the secret of successful entertaining.