An Exercise in Misery

Ok...you're all going to have to prepare yourselves because I'm about to go into a Huge Downward Mental Spiral, hereafter to be referred to as HDMS. The key to the HDMS is to embrace it and enjoy the ride.

Why, you may ask, is Ms. Quintessence - the very verve of the party - being subjected to such a harsh tragedy? Well, two reasons.

First of all, I had the opportunity to take a little vacation with a co-worker this past week. Co-worker's brother and his wife own a lovely little cottage in the East Shore area of of the Chesapeake Bay. And when I say lovely, I mean lovely. No cat hair, no dog poo, no water stains on the ceiling, no cracking plaster - in short, not at all like my house. It was little and cute and perfect.

So, co-worker and I skipped out of work for three days and high-tailed it down there with two bottles of vodka and a very large quantity of garlic. We didn't know what kind of trouble we would get into but we were going to make damn sure they smelled us coming.

At any rate, the vaction was wonderful - the weather was perfect, the vodka was cold and the garlic was roasted to stinky perfection. We spent our evenings drinking, eating and walking around the cute little towns and we spent our mornings not really hung over and walking the beaches looking for beach glass.

Now, fast forward 5 days.

It's very much like the second day after Christmas. Not just the day after, but two days after. That day when you reach the climax of anticlimacticism (how's that for a word?). I shuffle around the big refrigerator I live in, go to work and deal with people having mental breakdowns (and that's just the co-workers, not the clients), and I can't even get a good gingerbread cappuccino. Instead of beautiful little towns with charming little homes surrounded by perfect little gardens, I live amid tri-axle trucks hauling whatever grossness to the local stripping pit. Sigh...

And reason number two...

I quit CocaCola.

Cold turkey.

It is my lifeblood and I can't really talk about it anymore than that.


Ok, new topic.

Now here's something you will never believe...my daughter made the comment to me the other day that I'm a drama queen.

Me. A drama queen. Give me a break. That is so wrong. You know what I told her? I said "That is a cruel thang to say and you ah such a haytful little chald. I swayuh, God as mah witness, I am nevuh, evuh speakin' to you agayun! Nevuh!" And, just because I watched Spanglish recently I added "Nunca!" Then I grabbed up my skirt and all three hoops, ran up the stairs and flung myself, sobbing onto my canopy bed. I stayed there until the workers came in from the fields and Mammy came to loosen my corset.

Drama queen...the nerve!