…and suddenly you realize words like days from hell aren’t that farfetched…at all. In fact, you almost believe you coined the phrase.

The last 2 days have been hell; not that I’ve ever been and can now recount it like yesterday’s dinner menu (which incidentally was homemade garlic/savory hummus, warm Taandori naan, coconut jasmine rice and turmeric rubbed chicken in a cumin garlic sauce. Delish!) Nor do I have a sixth sense about it (Charlotte Russe stiletto sales, on the other hand…). What I can tell you is that the last few days pretty much sucked…big time.

I could spend this entire post making your jaw drop as air is sucked from your lungs. Ah, what the heck, one or two might not be so bad, YOLO right? I laid in my Sleep Number bed, which one year later I still LOVE, rolled over, felt a sharp pain, turned on the light to find I’d stabbed myself…with a giant-sized safety pin. How it got there I’ve no idea, but what I can tell you is it pierced me, not once but twice. Ever seen those eyebrow piercings? Like that, only it was my arm. And worse? It was deep in the skin so now there was blood on my newly washed sheets. So to recap, I got a deep two-hole piercing in my arm by a rusty tipped, cat-licked safety pin that caused me to bleed on sheets I didn’t really feel like washing any way but thought it’s laundry what’s the worst that could happen.

Mmm. Hmm. Yeah so the last few days were peppered with stuff just like that. Now, add in the human factor; the secret torment that arises for ridiculously brilliant but painfully introverted gals like me; the sudden shock of success; the onslaught of fear and angst; the mounting stupidity of people who know better but choose to act like an ass anyway; and suddenly you realize words like days from hell aren’t that farfetched…at all. In fact, you almost believe you coined the phrase.

Now, some may want to chime in with “this is where you exercise your faith” or “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or “girl, sometimes you just gotta encourage yourself.” Cue rant in 1…2…3…

Do me and yourself a favor and just don’t. Life is life. Most times I’m on top of the world. The last two days, I haven’t been and guess what? It happens. No amount of cliché sayings or impromptu quotes will change that. Let’s not try to spiritualize—or demonize—emotion. My emotions are mine. They’re real and they’re spectacular (ha! Genius, I know). Too many of us try to negate, suppress or ignore emotion under the guise of being spiritual or intellectual. You know where that gets some of us? Up the creek, without a paddle, and a whole in the bottom of the boat. Yeah, did that. Not doing it again. Moving along…

She cackled in her bully-like cackle ways and hugged me and said, now, don’t leave anything out or Justin will sing you to sleep. 

My daughter’s a bully! Yes a b-u-l-l-y. I’m not sure how she even got that way…okay, maybe I’m totally lying about that one. See, what had happened was when I was pregnant with her I was in warrior mode. For the first time in my life, if I didn’t like you, you knew it right off the cuff. If you were annoying me, I made it painfully clear to you. If you drank my strawberry milk which was the only thing that kept my morning sickness at bay and my sanity in check, well then you were kinda asking for a thrashing now weren’t you? Fast forward to today…

As an introvert, I hardly talk about things on my mind. People who really know me accept this. My daughter doesn’t, ever. Mommy, what’s wrong? Hard day. Tell me. No. Tell me. No. Tell me. No. Tell me, I said. Child, no. Telllll meeee. No. You see where I’m going with this right? Next, she’ll stop asking for hours and then when your defenses are down, she pounces on you. Ready to talk now? No. How about now? No. Now? No! You want me to go away don’t you? No—I mean yes. Ha, you said no, so tell me or I’ll never leave.

Yup. Imagine: the pretty bully bringing her stuffed animal entourage (dolphin, gator, and winged unicorn the size of a real life lion) along with her very spoiled kitten who really thinks he should be carried like a baby…all the time…everywhere. And then the pretty bully starts singing…Justin Bieber songs…like she’s auditioning for a spot on William Hung’s new star search. I caved in 3 minutes, 45 seconds. She cackled in her bully-like cackle ways and hugged me and said, now, don’t leave anything out or Justin will sing you to sleep. Like a good mommy, I didn’t.

They say you’re supposed to stand up to bullies. Uhh, not happening. Have you heard my daughter sing Beiber songs like William Hung?!!! #dontjudgeme

They say talking is good for the soul. Maybe…okay probably, but I admit nothing—unless of course, you’re going to involve my daughter; then I’ll tell you anything you want to hear.

In the end, I talked until I literally feel asleep. It didn’t make everything right with the world, but I felt better; and surprisingly, the pretty bully was a good listener. So, yeah. My daughter’s a bully and I’m totally okay with that—unless of course, you’re going to tell her I called her a bully; then I’ll find you and you’ll be really sorry. True story.