taking deep breaths

(image from here)

I've stopped tearing away the days from our tearaway calendar in an attempt to stop time, but I don't think it's working.

Christmas is coming, I'm still mysteriously coughing like an elderly smoker on her emphysemic death bed*, housework waits for no woman, the rain keeps falling, and the shop is still parked.

I need indulgent desserts and a desk under which to secretly consume them, stat.

The Man keeps reminding me that I'm doing my best**, and that's good enough. He's right. Right??

*I am not elderly, emphysemic, a smoker, or on my death bed, and I mean no disrespect to you if you are or know someone who is.
**If by best he means frequently found rocking backwards and forwards, surrounded by biscuit crumbs, repeating the words "The shop will open soon"