My Baby had died!
Friday the 13th came two days late for me. I've had the worst 24 hours of the year. I was refraining myself from tearing. Looking like shit when things are at their shittiest isn't going to make myself feel any better. So I held my tears back, breathed in, breathed out, and I survived.
I finished 8 pieces of work over the weekend. I took my water break when I finished every 2 pieces, while I printed them. Unfortunately, all I did was to call my beloved friends to break the good news and to make plans for the night after the last 2 pieces. So, they weren't produced into hard copies.
To cut a depressing long story short, my Baby died as I was diligently writing another review. Mother F*cker! Everything around me just died - my planner died (and I couldn't even find its body), my land line died, my laptop died, my walk-in robe's light died. How many times I've to tell you people that I don't take death very well??!!
*breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out*
So I'm the helpless mummy who didn't sleep last night; who had a panic attack and threw up twice; who is looking forward to hear from the technician, to tell me that my Baby's gonna be fine; who is blogging and drowning my sorrow at Charm's; who is waiting for her Baby to return home. But, when?