erin loses it

My lifestyle is clearly not sustainable.

Let me preface this by reassuring everyone that everything is now fine.

At 9:45 last night I stormed out of the house and went for a freezing cold winter walk (aside: let me once again thank Grandpa Berghoef for being mayor when snowmelt was introduced to our fine town. It is entirely possible to go for an angry walk a mere block from our apartment thanks to the beauty of snowmelt. Heated sidewalks, people. It is not a luxury). At the time I believed myself to be completely justified in storming out of the house because I had asked for some newspaper to be picked up for boxes-packing purposes and that had not been done. It was thought the number of plastic shopping bags (yeah, yeah we suck) we had lurking about would be sufficient. It may have been sufficient, but I had never packed with plastic grocery bags before and, contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually ship things across the country that often. In the process of attempting to use said substitute packing material, I convinced myself that this was actually a sexism issue. “Not only do I not have the proper materials to pack this box because someone obviously doesn’t care about me or my needs (because if they did I’d have mofo newspaper instead of these stupid useless plastic bags), I have not idea HOW to pack this box and yet, I’m expected to just magically figure out how to pack this box all by myself because I am a woman and women know how to do these things and you obviously feel this way else you’d be over here helping me figure out how to use these worthless fucking plastic bags I’m being forced to use (because you don’t care about me or my needs) instead of screwing around on the internet!”

Crazy Erin took over.

In my defense, I’d been averaging about 5ish hours of sleep a night for a few nights and had spent the previous night sleeping on the futon due to a miscommunication/snoring problem the previous night.

But honestly? Not a good excuse. Crazy irrational sleep deprived hand made Christmas Erin took over. And screamed. And stormed out of the house.

By the time I got home, the car was gone. I decided the best course of action was to ignore the pile of unpacked presents in the middle of the dining room and make some spiced nuts instead. A few minutes later, newspaper and a six pack of beer arrived. Apologies were made all around. And we packed the boxes.

Together.