I thought I wouldn't post anything because I'm feeling rather crabby and despondent. But then I thought: What and pass up this opportunity to gripe into the void?

We live in an apartment. The apartment complex seems to be headed toward perpetually unkempt. Dear Husband believes that God is telling him it's time for us to move. I love that about my husband--he get's messages from God. I get messages from my inner Woody Allen. I have grim forebodings of moving costs and pet and security deposits. I am certain if we leave this school district our children are doomed. Unfortunately the median housing price in this district is 300k. Fact is that I love love love this little outpost of Atlanta. There's a cute little useless main street right next to the train tracks, zillions of parks, a fabulous library, a couple nice coffee shops, and access to decent Chinese, Mexican, and Thai food. The town puts on great public events, and the crime rate is very low. And my church is here. There are other cute little Atlanta outposts, but this is my cute little outpost. Can you see the claw marks yet?

Besides the housing situation, there is this expanse of year looming before me. I've never been ambitious. I generally have had no particular direction. I'd be curious to know what that feels like. Ambitious people have goals. Goals are a great vexation to me. Have you ever dealt with the Franklin Covey planning system? You are supposed to break your goals into smaller goals. They might as well be asking me to plot the galaxy by first starting with the stars closest to earth. Needless to say I have never filled out one of the Franklin Covey goal sheets. This formlessness is probably not great for someone given to deep depression, but I'm durned if I know what to do about it. Twenty years of three different kinds of therapy haven't uncovered a solution, and God hasn't stepped in, either. The best I've come up with is "Goal 1: Get through this day. Goal 2: Get through tomorrow. Goal 3: Get through entire week. Goal 4: Remember to give Firecracker her meds. Goal 5: Remember to put the laundry in the dryer before it starts to mildew." And so on. The guy who wrote "Don't sweat the small stuff" better not get within my sights.

Okay, well there is a load of laundry slowly cooling in the dryer, and a forgotten load in the washer. I must extract my girls from the house next door and convince them that they should eat something. I've been a bad mom, because I didn't make them eat dinner at the proper time. I hate cooking in any case. I had leftover pizza.