Does Not Equal Ego

It's occurred to me that some of you readers might have been confused by earlier "posts" by people other than me. Some of you even honored me by wondering if I was writing it all in another voice. Not true. It's just that sometimes my gals send something via email that is too good or too funny not to share.

This is one of those, from the in-town Annie:

"Had the bad judgment to allow a sleep-over last night with a kid (I adore) as mischievous as my own. Tired. Decided yesterday after 2 months of "no gym" I could make up for it in one hellacious workout. Threw my knee out and every muscle in my body is screaming mad. Cannot straighten my arms; my biceps are so pissed off.

Woke up to a roll of paper towels rammed in the downstairs toilet. Yeah, other stuff in there too. Tried to take out the recycling with my crippled arms, barely made it down the stairs to a driveway FULL of broken glass. (When the hell did that happen?)

Phone calls: TEN before 8:45. (Never let on that you are an "early riser". People love that.)

Labored onto laundry (ouch any day of the year). You know those HUGE Tide dispensers I never buy? My economy minded husband bought me one last week. It fell off the table today, and the spout broke off. Five gallons of laundry detergent on the floor.

Realized that my "house-cleaners" (these generous and loving and kind people who show up every two weeks with fear in their eyes) were coming today. So was the upholstery guy. Bad dogs into cages. Kids out of the house. Me off to chiropractor and massage therapist so maybe, maybe I can hold a cup of coffee tomorrow morning, or sit on the toilet perhaps?

Need to get better. Turtles to hunt. Fish to catch. Kids to spent time with chasing and loving the summer as it speeds by."

The theme of her email, so similar to my own rants, makes me realize that we all sit in the same boat.

(I use this metaphor, though lame, because this entire small town smells like seaweed tonight. The salt is so strong and murky in the air that even the seagulls are confused: they land in my yard, which is a few blocks -- but a half million dollars -- away from the ocean.)

Annie-in-town is in my boat despite the fact that her youngest is older than my oldest. She’s in there nonetheless. She's been chastised, berated even, for what other people see as her chaotic life. But she knows who her kids are, and who she is, and I do too. After all, aren’t we all – with big kids, or babies or teenagers -- aren’t we are all just bailing water, paddling along, trying to figure it out the best way we can to keep the ship afloat?

That’s why I include this stuff here, these brilliant messages from other people, to prove the point, to myself most of all: I am not alone.