Rough Week (WARNING: Contains venting language)

Did I mention before that we aren't moving again for at least two years? After last week, my conviction has been solidified. We felt so bad for making other people help haul our junk (especially Todd and Becky) that this time we really tried to do as much as possible by ourselves. You never really appreciate (or despise) how much crap you've collected over the years until you try to move it by yourself. Though, I am certain that Todd and Becky still ended up carrying much more than we would have hoped.

I included the picture above in hopes of mocking my own current misery. I have always been afflicted with cold sores. I got them as a kid; I had one during our wedding reception; it's just part of my life.

Normally, I get hit with one, chop off the top, soak it in alcohol, and wait for the wound to heal. I know that they can be induced by sickness and chapped lips, but in my case they are usually a stress indicator.

I have never gotten more than two cold sores at once, until now. I have also moved plenty of times without one of the nasty little bastards rearing its ugly face. But today as I write this, I have counted six. That staggering number includes the one that decided the "No Vacancy" sign was up on my lips and decided to camp out under a nostril - a new experience for me... and yes, as painful as it sounds.

Other factors (okay, very BIG factors) can be held responsible for the lower-face agony. Why don't we just say that recent drama within immediate family circles has peaked stress levels to previously unexplored altitudes. It is difficult to be told by a very close family member that you are "a pathetic excuse for a human being." Especially difficult when you didn't know that particular family member was even mad at you.

Oh well, what can we do right? Sometimes we are the last ones to learn that the verdict is in and no further testimonies will be admissible. Those situations can come with an extra helping of "WTF!" when you are blindsided with the news that you were the one on trial.

Bright side? Maybe. Prescription strength stress like this appears to be more effective than gym time. I stepped on the scale this morning and found that I weigh 20 pounds less than I did this time last week. I suppose food is less appealing when your mouth feels like somebody beat the hell out of it with an infected baseball bat.

As the dust settles, I am once again flooded with gratitude for my own family unit. My beautiful, happy, healthy and drama-free girls make home a haven. Jenny, Emma and Abbi are a portable "Safe Zone" where I can always run while crying, "Time Out!! No Touchies!!"

I don't know, it almost makes me grateful for the times when the rest of life seems to be crumbling around you and the world outside your door seems knee-deep in shit. Nothing else is quite as effective in reminding you how much there is to be thankful for within your own walls.