A Cursed Season

I am cursed.

There is a voodoo doll out there with 50,000 pins sticking out of it and it looks surprisingly like me.

If I actually believed in voodoo that would be a believable explanation to this recent phenomenon. These past few weeks everything I have touched has “poo-poo”ed under my hand. If I had a pet rock it would have died. Yes, it is that bad.

I have burnt clothes with a iron, burnt dinner, forgot how to make bread and had to watch my own vlog on it. (Psst….I still couldn’t make the stinkin’ loaf after watching myself make one. How’s that for “poo-poo”ed) I have broken dishes, gained 10 lbs, cut the kid’s hair too short, lost a deposit, broken a lens….the list keeps going. I refuse to write anymore because it is going to make me crawl in the closet to hide. Although if I did crawl in a closet I would probably break the door handle off, trip, smash a toe and pull the whole clothes rod off on my head. Yes, it is that bad.

My husband has asked me not to cook, not to do laundry and just sit still in a corner. I thought to myself he was being ungrateful and in my head threatened him with arsenic in his next burnt dinner. I accidentally said that part out loud. I can’t even talk to myself correctly.

I am having a season of being cursed.

Have you ever had an extended vacation in “Poo-Poo”ed Land?

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