Ok sooo. . .

Ok sooo, here I am again posting after three months of silence. It's not that I don't have anything important to say but I think I've become a harried housewife. You know, too much to do and adding on more because it wouldn't feel actually right to slow down. I can't sit down because there are dishes to wash, clothes to wash and to iron, children and spouse(s) to feed, baby to nurse, carpets to vacuum, beds to make, floors to mop and wax, and when and if all of that is done somehow I must make myself not look like the bride of Frankenstein's Monster by washing and curling my hair, putting on matching clothes that don't start with "sweat" and if for no other reason than to avoid being followed by strange and otherworldly smells, I must take a shower. If I can manage all of those things before midnight I can go to bed only to begin the circus all over again around 5:30 in the morning. Now with all that said: How on earth under heaven did I find the time to write this? Simple. It is my vent. If I don't write my mental illness called life will get out of control and my brain will implode. Writing is my Valium. Writing allows me to balance the chemicals for a lot less than the cost of a Prozac or Opium and I can look back on what ever I was venting about and laugh, cry or whatever because life circumstances never, ever last forever. Life is constantly changing and I am learning to adapt with Grace: Day by day, moment by moment. So if you are feeling like a harried housewife, a harassed husband, a convoluted companion, whatever. Find your vent. Save your brain.