Magic 8 Ball of Crazy

So if I had a Magic 8 ball on my person at all times I know what I would ask it.  Several times a day I look to the Universe to answer the question “Am I out of my fucking mind?”    With my eyebrows scrunched together and a quizzical look on my face.  Because really, sometimes I wonder.  And by sometimes I mean a few times a day.  In the last few weeks I asked myself this question daily when I got home from work.  Or really every time I walked in to the living room.

I hate moth balls.  And cats.  I have two cats.  But no moth balls.  About three weeks ago I thought I smelled moth balls.  So, naturally I blamed the cats.  I checked the pockets of all their winter coats.  No moth balls.  So I assumed it was the new cat litter.  Cat litter and the fact that we have pets that crap in a box IN OUR HOUSE can be blamed for all kinds of things in my Universe.  It must smell like moth balls.  The new litter.

So, I wait.  And I try not to let the moth ball smell ruin my evenings.  And by ruin my evenings I mean distract me from eating bowls of ice cream and watching shitty TV.    The weekend comes and MQD changes the litter.  Even though he most definitely can NOT smell the moth balls.

Monday rolls around and I come home from work.  Open the door.  MOTH BALLS.  I am losing my mind.  I must be.  He changed the litter.  My house can not smell like moth balls.  Because this heinous scent must be the fault of the cats.  I trudge on through my week.  Avoiding my couch.  In the living room.  Where I enjoy relaxing.  I am feeling angry and crazy.  A bad combination.  I live through the week.  But it is touch and go.

Saturday morning comes.  MQD and Em are doing their thing. Em is tearing apart her room.  Changing her clothes every 45 seconds. MQD is downloading some music, because surely there has been music released since last week when he had a copy of everything ever recorded on his hard drive.  I take this opportunity to do that kind of cleaning that is fueled by anger.  I furiously sweep up dog hair.  I mopped.  I hate mopping.  I vacuum. I shoved the couch back and vacuumed that sliver of rug that is mostly under the couch.  I change the bag in my vacuum and clean out the inside of my vacuum cleaner.  I pulled out the suitcases under the bed and got the cat hair off of them and swept under there.  My entire downstairs smelled like Simple Green.

Success.  It must have been cat hair that smelled like moth balls.  MQD leaves for the grocery store and I sit down on the couch.  Em is in her room.  I am relaxed.  I exhale.  I inhale.  Oh hell no, motherfuckers… MOTH BALLS.  I smell them, this is no joke.  I am filled with rage.

In a moment that can only be blamed on hormones I jumped up from the couch.  Kicked the coffee table back in to the room.  And flipped my motherfucking couch over.  I was, of course, expecting to find a cat.  A cat in a coat it had gotten from a thrift store.  The thrift store having gotten this coat at an estate sale.  Or maybe a cat in an ancient wool cardigan.  Suspiciously free of holes.  But there were no cats under my couch.  In coats or sweaters.  But what I did find there…. it was like I had asked the Giant Magic 8 Ball of the Universe  if I was crazy and it had answered once and for all.  “Oh hell no. No.  You are not.”

Em came running down the stairs.  Perhaps because I shrieked.  Perhaps because I was flipping over furniture like a drunk in a barfight.  “Go back upstairs!” I hollered.  As if I had in my hand a MOTH BALL sized ball of plutonium.

So, I ran out on the porch.  And I waited.  For MQD to get home.  With it in my hand. And I yelled, gleefully as he exited his car.  “LOOK AT THIS!!! I found this under the god damn couch.  I am NOT CRAZY!”

I thought about putting it in a jar.  And saving it.  Like my own Magic 8 Ball that always said the same thing.  “You are NOT crazy.”

Sadly this feeling of euphoria only lasted a couple of days.  I haven’t been sleeping very well so my early morning thought processing has been all over the place.   I woke up this week thinking about how I really don’t think I can ever wear contact lenses again.  At least not why I have my period.  Because knowing that a menstrual cup works because of the suction it has around your cervix, and that contact lenses don’t fall out because they are in a way suction cupped to your eyeballs… I don’t think I could handle both at the same time.   And I started imagining these opposing forces of vacuum seal… and my eyeballs would get sucked down my throat, my lady bits pulled up in to my guts and they’d meet somewhere around the center of my chest.  Yup.  Back to feeling like maybe I am just not quite right.   At least things are back to normal.