Existential Crisis.

It's the long sleeve shirt that really sent me over the edge. My child dressed in shorts and a long sleeve shirt in the middle of a mid-atlantic july. The combo of my husband the dork who pulled two pairs of shorts from the dresser realized what he had, went back and managed to get a winter shirt from the wrong drawer and let my son put it on without even noticing AND my incredibly moody six year old who had a melt down at the thought of changing shirts after I noticed the sleeve length of the selection.

It's a slippery slope, my friends, and that just sent me down.

It's a real problem to know that I have it good, damn good. A job, a nice home, a healthy child, a husband who doesn't drink, carouse or gamble away his wages. I'm reasonably healthy physically and financially. I probably have a good 90% of the american dream. So why am I so unhappy?

To quote Jack Nicholson in the similarly named movie "what if this is as good as it gets?"

A pleasant customer service rep. who didn't argue about my unproveable request, a little retail therapy, a little LOTR, and schmoozing with the Best Babe and I'm feeling a bit better. But the question is still there hanging in the air. Sometimes like a cloud, but sometimes like a guillotine blade.