Third Option

I woke up this morning and it was raining. At first I thought it was the sound was my humidifier gurgling, but nope. It was rain--the sort that sloshes out of the sky like a bathtub overflowing. Wall-to-wall rain, all day long.

I had outdoor plans that were necessarily cancelled, I took Odessa to school, I called a friend to wish her happy birthday, I went to yoga class only to find I had read the time wrong. Thus thwarted, I drove to the studio, and in the car I decided that today could go one of two ways:

Option 1: I could cry.
Option 2: I could to buck the fuck up.

But sometimes you don't get the choice. Sometimes the rain is your event planner. I haven't cried today, nor have I bucked up even one tenth of a fuck. That's just winter for you, if you 're me.

So, in the parking lot of Dessa's school, I talked to my cousin's husband for a minute.

"I hate this weather," I said.

"You and everybody else in your family." he said. "It's weird, because didn't your people come here from Ireland?"

"Some of them did, but you'll notice they left.  Anyway, in Ireland they were probably drunk all the time."

"Some of you are still drunk all the time."

That's true, but unfortunately I'm not one of the drunk Shieldses. So, it seems like my best option for today is to listen to mournful music and write about how gravity works in space.

Join me?

There's a lot of stupid Australian banter in the beginning of this, so skip to 1:20.



I'm sorry if that ruined your day.  No really: I'm so sorry.  I should keep the third option to myself.

Update: Chester just messaged me: "well that was depressing as hell. thanks for the mood boost babe."

I'M A MONSTER. I'm sorry.