I . . . can't . . . breathe

I was listening to this woman the other day complain about how the guy at the drive thru had gotten her order wrong and how she was sick of the fact that it shouldn't be rocket science to put the correct food in the correct bag and hand it to the correct person in the correct car. At the time, I was ready to just jump in and say, "YES! I HATE THAT TOO!" But I stopped myself. But I did agree with her.

Yesterday, I got myself pretty riled up about something as well. Something minor and insignificant. Just my house selling. My house that has been on the market for over a year now. A year and one month to be exact.

But today, I don't care. I don't care if my stupid house never sells. I don't care if I never get the right food at the drive thru. Because today, I have enough trouble for today. I feel like an air balloon that has been floating around for a while, but all of a sudden the air in me has found a hole and is whooshing out. The room is spinning and the oxygen is gone. I would take a deep breath, but my chest is experiencing this crushing weight.

My son is sick. They can tell us what they are pretty sure he doesn't have, but they can't tell us what he does have. Did I mention I can't breathe? I keep telling myself not to borrow trouble from tomorrow. That's what the Bible says. I don't know what he has. I don't know that he has anything to worry about at all. Maybe it's something really explainable and simple. That could be it. That would certainly be a glass half freakin' full mindset. Right?

All that to say . . . crap.