When it hurts to brush your hair...

Maybe it's time to mellow out a tad.

I've been a little stressed lately.

I thought I was handling it pretty well. Sure, I stayed awake at night trying to figure out how to fix all our (and the world's) evils, but I've been doing that since I was eight, so status quo right?


This morning, as I'm getting ready for the day, I start brushing through my bird's nest, and it hurts. Not-ripping-out-the-tanglies kind of hurt, either. My scalp was sore and tender....WTF?


I have a scalp full of raw spots and scabs.

(Sexy, MMMmmhmm.)

Confused, I go about my morning by returning the health insurance guy's call.

As I listen to him tell me that because of our (but mostly MY) health history, insurance will cost us $400 a month (bestest case scenario, and not likely) to up to $700 a month (more likely scenario), if we get approved AT ALL--I begin raking my nails through my hair.

Then my hubby calls to tell me that he's sitting at work doing NOTHING because they're internet is down (they're an interwebs-based workplace), and after a rather annoying convo with their provider, they discover that the reason they have no intertoobs is because the bill hasn't been paid, and there is an outstanding balance.

As paying the bills are the higher-ups responsibility (who live out of the country and only communicate via the web, ohhh wait...), and they just recently "laid-off" the accountant, my hubs and crew can do nothing but sit there and hope one of them can eventually catch them by phone (remember that rusted-out method of communication? No?) so this situation can be remedied {read: PAID.}...

I don't know about you, but to ME, this does not bode well to the stability of my spouse's job. Which does not bode well to our ability to pay our bills. Which does not bode well for either of us maintaining sanity. Or a good credit score.

But, I did not want to have a freak-out fest, and rile up my already wound up husband (who I know is picturing us living in a cardboard box feeding O cat food or me running off with the pool boy that we don't have because at least his job is stable--renaming O "Pablo"), so I took a deep breath and told him I'm sure it was probably just an oversight.

As I hung up, I realized that my nails were entrenched in my scalp, and upon inspection, there was a tiny bit of blood under a few of my fingernails.

I honestly didn't even realize that I was doing that all the time.

Looking back, I do, but as we all know, hindsight is better than therapy-blah, blah, blah.

Maybe I shouldn't have quit biting my nails?