Courtesy of the Flickr Commons
Mrs. G. aplogizes for being away from the computer so long. She hopes you will pardon her absence and start heading back over here again now that she feels that she has something to write, that she actually can write. She's been reading through all the comments tonight and she has missed gathering here and rattling the branches as much as you have. And just so you know, you can hang out on Mrs. G's porch anytime whether she's home or not. In fact, feel free to use the key under the mat. There's a bottle of tequilla behind the crockpot in the left corner cabinet beside the dishwasher.
The supposedly short break began when Mrs. G. unplugged from the internet for two weeks in order to meet a writing deadline. She did but just barely.
Historically, the end of Daylight Saving Time trifles with Mrs. G's brain. It can take up to a week for her to feel right, for the insomnia to hit the road. This year, the insomnia was dogged. It seemed bound and determined to drag Mrs. G's ass down and it did--down, down all the way to nutter town. For a couple of weeks Mrs. G. had trouble getting out of bed, and when she did, she usually got as far as the living room chair where she sat mentally chanting the depressive's mantra: you suck, no one likes you, nice gargantuan age spot on your left cheek, you're a fraud, you need to put on deodorant the next 3-5 days time you change your sweatshirt, you're worthless, your earlobes are growing...anyone whose been in this spot knows the drill.
Thanks to several visits to her narcissistic psychopharmacologist who helped adjust meds, several visits to her therapist, several Law & Order SVU marathons (Abilify me, Stabler and Benson, Abilify me!!) several novels to keep her company when she couldn't sleep and several hugs, kisses, take-out dinners and phone calls from Mr. G. and her kids, Mrs. G. is on the mend. On a scale of 1 to 10 (10 being tip top shape), she's a solid 6.
6 is mighty fine.
Prepare yourself. because Mrs. G. is about to do something she can barely tolerate just to prove her love and appreciation for all the kind emails, texts, phone calls and comments you left for her one way or the other.
Here is one of her favorite emails:
I assume from your radio silence you must be writing up a storm and NOT LYING DEAD IN A DITCH. I am going to kill you if you ARE LYING DEAD IN A DITCH.
You can't buy love like this. Mrs. G's sorry she didn't answer but when Mrs. G's in a legitimate funk, she isolates herself so no one has to deal with her. It's not a pretty sight. OK, ready for this true Mrs. G. first?
:) :) :) :) :) :) :) :)
More tomorrow. We have a lot to talk about. If you're really nice to her she'll show you some photos of when she quit brushing her hair for so long the part changed on it's own accord. No, she won't.
Heather Mrs. G.