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Like Oxen

I'm wallowing in self pity tonight.  First because I got some very bad news.  From the IRS, no doubt.  Of all the people to get bad news from, that is pretty much the top right there.  The IRS and the doctor.  In cahoots I bet.  I wonder if they have conferences.  

"Hey IRS dude I told someone they had to have that lump removed today."  {GLEE}
"Ohhh, nice one!  I only got to tell people they were being audited."  {SMUG}

Something like that I'm sure.

No offense if you are a doctor or an IRS person. 

My brain is a-spinning and a-whirling about a-what to do.  I have very few solutions, I can count them on one hand actually.  Most of them involve considerable flim-flammery and heaps of worries. 

On a side not, flim-flammery sounds fun.  I would buy that at the store if it was a product.  Sounds cozy and fun.  Like a fancy Snuggie.

Aside from this mess-I'm-in-of-my-own-making, though, I really don't have much to complain about.  I've got a warm house that is cute and pretty and often full of loud people.  I have a car to drive that has heat and air conditioning and a radio - the essentials you know.  I have two brilliant children that will change the world when they grow up.  Well, more of the world.  They already changed mine.  I have a husband who works really hard doing stuff he doesn't particularly enjoy so that we can have this house and car and food and light and all that other hoo-haa.  I have lots of hoo-haa. 

I know that I am bless-ed.  Capital B.

But, gosh sakes, it sure is easy to get into the mire and wallow. 

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