Just so you know, this entry is not going to be anything worth reading. It's pure mind jumble spew stew. So, if you continue on, don't blame me.

I woke in a panic, heart seemingly racing even though my pulse was normal. I suspect it was the wind rattling both the house and my subconscious through the night.

And when I am anxious I generally manage to accomplish quite a bit in an effort to restore inner serenity by putting my surroundings in order. Although today it hasn't worked thus far, I have managed to fill three trash bags with needless junk as I cleaned out the utility closet, pantry, junk drawer and office drawer. I started out by looking for my not one, but two packs of rechargeable batteries that have somehow made a break for it into the big bad world.

They have disappeared into the black hole, that Bermuda triangle of things that you know you have but cannot find. There was a book I loved as a child called "The Borrowers" about mouse sized humans who lived in people's walls and existed off of all those "misplaced" items that they "borrowed" from their average sized human counterparts. Isn't that just such a great concept? That we don't lose all those things, but rather there are entire communities of teensy people who have made use of the random spools of thread or rechargeable batteries or new bottles of shampoo that have disappeared into the ether? I forgot about that book. Anyway.

So, yes, usually I can make sense of my world by letting my OCD rear its freaky head and organizing the heck out of our house. But today I may have to move onto the kava tea. And simply accept that the moment I purchase rechargeable batteries and throw away the receipt, the ones that I have lost will suddenly reemerge in the most obnoxious of places, like in the middle of the kitchen table.

Duke and I celebrated our joint birthdays this weekend. Mort headed off to his grandparents' home and I took a nap and read a book. Duke played the piano. We then went to the movies and out to dinner. In our pre-child world, that would have ranked right up there with Most Boring Weekend Ever. In our post-child world, it is marked as Heaven on a stick. We got massages and had brunch. In a grown-up restaurant. With tablecloths and bloody marys.

Of course, my back is all out of whack from getting a massage. Oh well, as long as it doesn't go out on me completely, it was worth it.