Fate's a Bitch

And so it begins.

On the eve of Father's Day, I am speaking the words of every single mother out there.

Aw, crap.

This begins my descent into milestone hell with Father's Day, my birthday, his death, and our wedding anniversary all wrapped up into one giant wine and tissue filled package.  Of course, it's not enough that I've got to deal with all of that, but this is also the time of year that I usually sprain an ankle, come down with a rash I can't explain, or - as was the case last year - have a series of floods in my house that I just finished recovering from.

It's been seven years and I've gotten to the point where I'm so scared of what Fate has in store for me every June and July, I really try not to make eye contact with her. Slowing down during this time of year is not just for my mental well-being, but also for my safety and the safety of those around me.

Seriously.  I wouldn't call to try and make a Happy Hour plan with me until at least August 1st.

I wake up every morning and cower through my day, just hoping I can make it to the end of July.  Because if she decides to attack, I usually spend the better part of my fall trying to pick up the pieces of my life that she's blown apart.

I know I'm tempting her right now by admitting this, but I actually feel pretty good.  I was a little worried a few weeks ago when I was dealing with near-crippling back pain.  I looked at my watch and thought, "Yup.  She's right on time."

I had resigned myself to the fact that I was probably going to be bedridden until the stroke of midnight on my last milestone, but for some reason unknown to me, the pain cleared up and I'm actually walking upright again.

Makes me wonder if Fate found a better target.  And if it's you, I'm truly sorry.

Amazingly enough right now, I don't have the shakes like I usually do before Father's Day.  I'm not crying uncontrollably in my car.  Heck, I've even had the attention span to make it through a People magazine.  I don't know who this widow is, but I hope she sticks around.

But I'm seasoned enough to know that she might not. After all, I felt pretty good around year four, only to have year five completely knock me on my ass.  So, I'm wise enough at this point to appreciate the fact that I don't feel too bad, but cautious enough to know that she might decide to strike tomorrow and then I'll have to write a whole new blog that will make you all think I have a multiple personality disorder.

Eh.  Who am I kidding?

You probably think that already.