Here in Whopperville

My daughter had a huge inground pool at her old house.
And three wind turbines, the kind like they have in Nebraska.
She had 12 cats.
And three dogs.
Three goats.
Three cows.
And chickens.
Twelve pair of shoes.
A big bed. Bigger than mine.
Oh, and she had 12 shots, too. Which I sure wish they'd recorded so we could have skipped this shots every week nonsense to get her into school.
She likes the number 12. And 3.
She loves to brag to her brother about all the spectacular stuff she used to have and he totally buys into it.
One of her friends had a TV as big as his wall.
Another had several cars. Nice ones. Like my neighbors'.

All things in Ethiopia were awesome. America is a downgrade. She's now living in the depths of poverty.

Somehow this makes perfect sense for her, that she should tell me these things. Because it is somehow better for her mother to have relinquished her because......? It wasn't because she was "so poor." It was because, I dunno, she had to make room for her new TV?

Apparently this is right on schedule, the fantasies about how great life was.
Their care center was luxurious.
Their homes were full of all the modern amenities.
Their caretakers were angelic.
The food was, OK, the food wasn't as good as pizza, but they got to eat exactly what they wanted when they wanted to. They didn't have to wait for mealtimes and their cook was a short order chef that served popsicles for breakfast.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. It really isn't funny. It's flat annoying. It irks me to no end. Just like the fact that complaining about her left knee this morning got her daddy to carry her all over the school and house all day, but tonight, the sore knee switched to the right one. Oh, reeeeeeeeally. Let me call in the paramedics.

None of this bugs Brent at all. Not in the least. Which irks me even more.

It's the craziest thing.

Nope, if you are reading for the silver lining, the insight, the intuition, the Thus Sayeth the Lord, you aren't going to find it. I've got nothin'.

I used to be fun. I did. I remember it. Uncompromisingly frugal, yes, which people sometimes interpret as not fun, but my sense of adventure was intact and I enjoyed a lively story, an unexpected bend in the road.

Lately, I'm just going seven kinds of crazy.
1. depression
2. anxiety
3. anger
4. insomnia
5. Manic
6. OCD
7. living in a fantasy world (I'm sure there is a term for this, but I'm tired) psychoses?

I'm overtired and underfunned. I lose my temper in the wrong situation at least once a day and it is usually in front of someone who shouldn't see it.

I have chigger bites.

I'm not fun. I'm not funny. And I'm not humored when hearing for the 12 thousandth time about her freaking inground pool that was SOOOOOOo much better than the one we go to here in town (the one, I might mention, that she begs to go to daily). And I like it even less when I hear Charming tell yet another friend that his sister used to have a pool bigger than our open plan living space. "Right, Iris?"

Thank the good Lord I live in the world of fantasy online friends who teach me to say things like, "Of COURSE you do!" when faced with yet another whopper. Though tonight and the knee...let's just say I pointed to the other one and told her that had she complained of IT, I might find some ibuprofen, but since it was that one, she could have a nice pat on the head.

What she heard was "Wah, wah, wah, wah."

I should also thank the good Lord that Brent hasn't lost his funny bone. (She probably had a pond and she's relating that to this. She probably has a windmill at the pond and that's what she means by having three wind turbines. She probably means she saw a TV once. Maybe they did have all those animals. Maybe she means all of her family had a pair of shoes each and that makes 12. No, I'm sure that was the knee she was complaining about earlier. SUCKER.)

I think I need to go to bed.
The end.