Ever get into a funk before? And all of a sudden everything, and I mean everything, starts to bother you? Well until a few hours ago, I was in one. And it kind of got out of control. But don’t worry I’m out of it now. It’s safe to come back inside.

I think the funk started Tuesday morning when over 10,000 businesses and residences in my county lost their natural gas service because something went wrong. The gas company didn’t know what happened but they said it would take a few days, maybe through the weekend, for them to fix it. And one of those businesses was my husband’s restaurant. Which meant he had no fuel to cook with. He managed to keep the restaurant open and at least serve some items but not the most popular item, smoked chicken penne pasta in a tomato basil cream sauce nicknamed a “Smokey”. So the restaurant lost sales and my husband temporarily lost his mind, and a few pounds, because he was stressed out. Unbelievably, there were some customers who were indignant because the restaurant wasn’t serving its full menu.

Then there was some bad news in the neighborhood. And the funk starting gaining momentum.

Have I told you about the icemaker in my eleven year-old refrigerator? It’s been broken for over 6 months. We’ve been making ice the old fashioned way by filling up trays with water and, after they freeze, we dump them in the ice bin so that the ice can still come out of the door. Except nobody in the household wants to accept the responsibility of keeping the bin filled so when you try to get ice you are greeted with the grating sound of the metal coil inside turning over and over searching for the cubes. But it would cost almost as much to fix it than it would cost to buy a new refrigerator. And I would rather do some traveling this summer.

And can I tell you about my kitchen sink’s faucet? It leaks water all over the kitchen counter if the handle is not positioned perfectly straight. We’ve been trained not to leave anything on the counter or else it could be ruined. Like my son’s new book from the book fair. He lost the back cover on that one. Plus the faucet also keeps leaking under the sink too. We’ve lost a few rolls of paper towels with that one. But it’s really clean under there. I could try to fix it. I think it just needs some new rubber washers. But I’ve been really busy lately. Just haven’t gotten around to it. And I’d hire someone to do it but my busy husband keeps saying he’ll take care of it. When? In 2011?

How about the fact that there are too many cars parked out in front of my house. And only one of them is mine. Six of them belong to the house across the street. Yes, six. So there is nowhere to park. And my next door neighbor’s giant dog has been using my small front yard as his toilet. The excrement is cleaned up but the urinary damage has been done and the grass is turning yellow. And as long as we’re talking about bodily functions, I was chatting with my husband yesterday while he was standing up and peeing in our bathroom’s toilet. He sneezed mid-pee causing his urination stream to be diverted to the wall and also in to the little garbage can. Huh, never saw that before. Am I supposed to say “God bless you”? And I actually had to request that he clean it up.

Then last night, on my Thursday date night, I was at a loud but good restaurant with my now-happy husband (the gas was restored yesterday morning) and my favorite tall German person and part way through the meal, by chance, I happened to pull my phone out of my purse. And I saw that I had 13 missed calls from my ex-husband’s cell phone. And I thought someone, maybe his 98 year-old Sicilian grandmother, had died. So I jumped from my seat, ran outside so I could hear and frantically dialed him back. My daughter answered and she was hysterical. She said that she had “dislocated” her thumb playing catch with a tennis ball and was upset that I didn’t answer my phone. Because of course that means that I don’t love her. And did I mention that it was after 10 o’clock and she should have been in bed? Then her father got on the phone and said that her thumb was not dislocated, merely jammed. Which sounded better to me but she had two end-of-the-year concerts the next day and how was she going to play her saxophone?

This morning, my ex-husband brought both children by my house on the way to school so I could check out my daughter’s jammed thumb. Which looked a little bent but not too bad. She had complete range of motion. No big deal. And then my 13 year-old son got out of the car and the first thing he said was that he didn’t feel well. And wanted to stay home from school. C’mon. There’s a week and a half left in the school year. Unless he has a 102 degree fever and has broken both his legs, he’s not going to stay home. Except I got a little frustrated dealing with the kids and my ex that I told my son there was no way in hell he was going to stay home. Yep, I really did use the word hell.

From there, the downward funk spiral continued. And, while wiping up the water on the counter, I started fretting about my life, my parenting skills (Should I have taken her to the doctor? Why did I use the H-word?), and my career or rather lack of one. The self-doubt begins. Maybe my writing is shit. Why would anyone, other than my family and friends, want to read anything that I write?

But then I got a phone call. The bad news in the neighborhood had turned good. And I decided to go for a run. I started feeling better halfway through it because I realized that all of the things that were putting me in a funk didn’t matter because really not much, other than good news in the neighborhood, matters. My life is good. Better than good. But sometimes you just need to vent. Vent and then get over it. Which I did. And I was feeling pretty happy.

At least until I got back from my run and went to get a nice cold glass of ice water. Of course, there was no ice. But I guess, in the scheme of things, having to drink lukewarm tap water isn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like being stranded on a deserted island and running out of batteries for your vibrator.