I am a coward, hiding in the bathroom to cry about a turtle.
This was just the other day. It had been a long day of driving my old
college room mate and friend around. She was visiting from far away,
and we had a lot to talk about. So, there's my excuse. I was tired.
But there I was, like an hour later, hiding in my bathroom. I was hiding from my friend, from my husband and from the kids. The kids wouldn't get off their Nintendos. My husband had just fed half of my special hand-made pizza to the kids for lunch - now there wasn't enough for a full dinner next week. I was mad. And all of this talk, about too many serious things, was draining.
So, there I go, upstairs into my sanctuary. No one will follow me here. I didn't need to use the bathroom at all. But, there I was, on the floor of the closet and the rush of inadequacy and exhaustion overwhelmed me.
As a hostess, I couldn't do it right. I couldn't pull it off and be gracious. I couldn't just let things go. If I was good, I wouldn't have asked both a 9 and a 40 year old house-guest to turn the handle on the bathroom door, when they close it, so that it wouldn't clunk. If I was a good mom, our pet turtle would be thriving. But instead, he's neurotic, banging himself into the wall of his wooden enclosure. He's trying to get out constantly, so much so that he's worn parts of his shell off, and now one of those spots shows signs of infection. And all we can get him to eat, is romaine lettuce and an occasional tomato. That can't be good.
We decided a few weeks ago to find him a better home - maybe a home with an outdoor tortoise paradise. That must be what he needs... I listed him on Craigslist, and within a couple of days we had replies. From real people, who claim to have these idyllic habitats.
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