I am in a certain amount of denial over the amount of time that has elapsed since my last blog post.

That’s December for you, eh? The days melt into weeks as waxy chocolates are pried from their hiding places in the advent calendars and the weeks slip between your fingers while one mentally calculates * just * how many times they’ve heard “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” in an effort to at least lend a bit of insight into what made you snap when you’re being checked into the loony bin.

Ah, the holidays.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I think the word I’m looking for is “overwhelmed”.

Or maybe “fucking nuts”.

One or the other. You know how it goes.

There are only two weeks left until Christmas. I am not ready. AT. ALL.

There are only five weeks until I make the first trip to Kingston with Julian. I am not ready. AT. ALL.

Did I mention that when I called Dr. Hameed’s office to make Julian an appointment I was informed that he is “gone”? Yeah. Gone. Gone where…I have no idea. All I know is that he is no longer Julian’s paediatrician, I was not given any kind of notice, he did not forward Julian’s files to the doctor replacing him, that doctor is not accepting new patients (you can imagine my response to that one, eh? “He’s NOT a new patient! He’s been a patient at that office for years now!”) but if I really want to, I can ask my family doctor to refer Julian to the office. But they’re not accepting new patients. Did she mention that they’re not accepting new patients? Cuz they’re not accepting new patients.

I cannot put into words what this means for my little guy. We’d be here all fucking day if I tried. So, suffice it to say that this is not good. Not at all.

As if that wasn’t enough holiday joy, Julian is also sick with something-or-other. It’s a little early, even for him, to start with his first bout of pneumonia for the season but it’s been bitter and cold so maybe that’s what’s brewing. I’m not sure. And at this point, all I can do is rely heavily on my amazing family doctor and watch Julian like a hawk. That kid has a tendency to go from zero to ninety in a matter of hours when he’s under the weather.

Oh yeah. And we’re expecting a snow storm tomorrow. You might think that because I live in Ontario we’re already bunking down in our igloos for winter and that snow storms are daily occurrences, but they aren’t. In fact, we haven’t had a real storm, yet and we barely have any snow. I wouldn’t be too concerned except for the fact that I’m definitely not in the mood to drive in horrendous conditions to the emergency room with Julian this weekend.

And now that I’ve said that, I will probably have to. Damn. I’m always doing that to myself.

Yes, I’m crabby. Very, very crabby. I warned you! Oh wait. No, I didn’t. Well, too fucking bad. Life doesn’t come with a warning. Nobody’s holding a gun to your head and making you read.

Now where was I?

Oh yeah. I was bitching.

So, today I head out to run a few small errands which might not sound like such a big deal, but believe me, it is. It’s nearly fucking impossible on a * good * day but when you add a bit of something-or-other to the little man, it’s kinda like banging your head against the proverbial wall. I am * this * close to actually losing my mind. Honestly. I love the dude, I really do. But oh my good Dog, I can’t take much more.

Right. So when I come home, I find some sort of magazine and a little hand written note attached to it.

“Hmmm. What’s this?” I wonder.

So I pick it up, all ready to be cheered up by some mystery little magazine giver only to discover that it’s one of those Jehovah’s Witnesses magazines and the hand written note is from the Jehovah’s Witness himself (I will say that the fact that the note was hand written made my heart tighten a bit in pity for the guy…talk about a hand cramp…)

And that put me over the edge. Any little ounce of non-crabbiness I had left in me went into the trash along with that magazine and note.

I do believe in some kind of creator or the Universe or whatever for the mere fact that I was not home to receive this holy roller caller. If that’s not proof that there’s a God, I don’t know what is. Because given my mood (did I mention that my car is on it’s last leg? Yeah. It is. It’s a fucking miracle every time that piece of shit moves at all) there is a strong possibility that I might have actually lost it on the witness had I been home to answer the door.

Very, very strong possibility.

I was invited out to dinner tonight. FREE dinner, I might add. Of course, I can’t go.

And don’t bother lecturing me about the respite care thing, okay? I KNOW! But do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a respite care worker? Any idea at ALL? I have a stack of resumes to go through and then I have to interview the folks I choose and if I actually find one that I don’t hate, I have to then train them. Yeah. So it’s not like it’s a simple task, okay? If anything, it’s just another thing sitting on my never-ending to-do list, right up there with “make an appointment for Julian to see a dentist and make sure they are willing to sedate him because ain’t no fucking way in HELL he’s gonna let anyone in his mouth without being sedated and make sure they’re willing to give me a dose, too cuz I have to take the kid home” and “get laid.”

And that’s not about to happen anytime soon because I am still single handedly keeping the cheap ass brand pad company in business. They are having one hell of a year thanks to me.

And I really, really have to start faxing things to Kingston. And there are a whack of people I have to notify about Dr. Hameed’s sudden absence. I shouldn’t have mentioned that because now I’m getting all wound up again.

You know what would calm me down?

Shemar Moore. That’s what.

That would take the wound up right out of me.

Maybe I should spare you all the rest of the list of things that are driving me motherfucking batshit lately and end this post on that Shemar-a-licious note.

I think I will.

But if you’re wondering why I don’t post as often as I used to, feel free to come back to this one for your answer….