I have been exhausted lately, watching my siblings face alternating crises while facing one or two of my own. Sleep is one of the first things that goes when I'm under stress. (The things that go after sleep probably don't bear talking about.) Sleep always abandons me just when I need it the most.
So I'm exhausted and feel constantly on the edge of hysteria and I've known for weeks that the tiniest nudge could send me around a bend. I just didn't realize how tiny.
Hubby and I were in the grocery store candy aisle, where I was trying to find a six pack of candy bars that would satisfy everyone (or at least not outright offend anyone) waiting at home for their junk food fix. Hubby saw a six pack of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups With Caramel on the shelf and said, "Ooooh--caramel--have you tried them?"
Let me stop here to tell you something that you may not know about me: I hate peanut butter, always have, I hate it with a fiery passion I usually reserve for human beings rather than inanimate foodstuffs. You, of course, can be forgiven for not knowing that fact about me. Hubby, however, has been married to me for almost 20 years--twenty years in which it has somehow escaped his attention that I hate peanut butter.
I consider my hatred of peanut butter to be a fundamental fact of my personality, a core element of my Self. And somehow, Hubby has no idea or, maybe worse, has completely forgotten, that I hate peanut butter.
I am not so overwrought that I actually said any of this in the grocery store, but I am so far gone that I did get a little teary-eyed standing there.
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