I tell myself to relax. To calm down. That things aren't so bad. Never so bad that I can't handle it. And I go for a walk and breathe deeply and feel almost okay.
And then I open the door.
Good Lord! What happened in here?!
And then I remember. I have a goddamn five-year-old!
Precious, angelic, love of my life five-year-old, yes. But goddamn all the same.
Hours I spent yesterday cleaning this house. Hours I spent scrubbing, dusting, vacuuming, organizing. And today?
Was yesterday a dream? I can't think of any other explanation. How else could one small child create the utter devastation I see before me?
So, I do what any sane person would do. I retreat to the mind-numbing haven of the interweb. I find sweet salvation in the inane.
I find this...
And I feel better.
Oh, internet, you've done it again!