Dear God,


I'm going to give it to you straight. A broken car that isn't worth repairing wasn't on my list of things to deal with before my remicade infusion. In fact, I'm having trouble dealing with anything more serious than the lack of foods in my house that soothe my prednisone-induced cravings, and even that is pushing it. At this point I don't have the energy to throw a fit, and wouldn't put it past myself to sprain my eyeballs crying, so I'm just going to pray for the ability to shut off my ocd and not spend every second of the next however-long-it's-going-to-take-to-figure-out-the-car-situation worrying. Please grant me peace.

Thank you for listening, and understanding, and for any cheesecake you'd like to send my way. And for my parents, who, bless them, upon hearing the news said we'll talk. That can only mean good things. And for a husband who chooses his wife's mental and emotional health over going to work. And for kids who are in their rooms giggling instead of sleeping, and who giggle more when you tell them to stop giggling and go to sleep. And for the photo of Miss M above, because it cracks me up every time I see it.

Love,
Amanda 

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