The Boy (as “Tree”, his puppet): Hi, my name is Tree.
Bryan and I: Hi, Tree.
The Boy, dropping “Tree” voice: I am a sock.
Bryan: What happened to your voice, Tree?
Back to Tree: I don’t like to talk about it.
Bryan and I laughing hysterically: Um, okay.
Tree: You wanna hear a song?
Us: Sure.
Tree: IIIII LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE..

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, The Boy had me in tears last night.  Want to entertain Sarah quickly?  Stick a sock on your hand and talk to her.  She is just that simple.  The rumors are true.

I’m in a bad mood today.  I think it’s PMD.  It’s a rarely acknowledged disorder: Post Marital Depression. 

This is not to say that I’m unhappy in my marriage, because I am most definitely not unhappy.  There is not a moment with Bryan that I don’t adore him, and I feel very loved.  We make a great team. 

But, you know, I went for several months living on adrenaline.  I was constrained for time down to the half hour.  And, might I say, I managed to do it extremely well.  I balanced work, several shows, and planning a wedding, all without ever leaving dishes in the sink.  I was very proud of myself.

Now that I don’t have that tightly-packed schedule anymore.. I’m lethargic.  I’m exhausted.  And I’m cranky.

My house is a wreck.  And not just messy, which is usually when I lose it and go on a cleaning rampage.. no, it’s a wreck.  It’s disgusting.  There is a smell to it.  And I don’t care enough to clean it.  Quite frankly, I’m overwhelmed.  My bedroom?  Oh, Jesus, you should see it.  Clothes everywhere.  And what really sucks is that they’re all CLEAN.  Not dirty, not waiting to be washed.. CLEAN.  I just put some aside with the “I’ll iron and hang them up later” thought, which became a larger pile, and then a larger pile, and now serves as a carpet.  The bathroom is the cleanest room in the house, because I managed to Clorox the hell out of it when we were both sick.  But that’s all the cleaning I had in me. 

The kitchen is a mess and needs to be mopped, with dishes in the sink that need to be washed; the yard needs to be mowed at least once more before the season ends; the dining room table is completely covered with wedding junk; and there are shoes and t-shirts all over the house.  And hair.  Have I mentioned the hair?  Two dogs and two cats, people.

So what sucks is that I KNOW THIS.  I walk into my house and am disgusted with myself as a wife.  How could I keep this house for my hard-working husband?  How long before he starts doubting my ability as a capable wife, especially when, before the marriage, he always came home to a spotless house?  Is this how my flip switches?

It terrifies me.

Of course, not enough to fix it.  I just can’t make myself. 

I will.  I will make myself.

Tomorrow.