I've gone Emo.
Real Tears. I've completely cried off what little makeup I put on this morning. And I thought that the distraction of taking my own picture would make it stop. Nope.
It is the week of my youngest son's high school graduation.
And I've gone Emo.
God, help me.
I may as well give in and wear the skinny jeans with the canvas sneakers, paint my fingernails black, and experiment with my hair color, because I am way too in touch with my emotions this week.
I defy you to graduate your youngest from your home school, listen to country music whilst running Graduation Errands, and not cry your butt off.
Pray for me, friends. I am truly afraid of what I might be capable of, this Saturday evening at 6 o'clock, as The Preacher and I walk across the stage to meet our youngest, and hand him his diploma.
What if I sob?
What if I have to exit stage left, crawling on my hands and knees?
What if I decide to sell Amway?
What if I move to Post-Yuppie Farm Road, and start killing my own cows and milking Nubian goats?
Nah. I'd rather get a nose piercing.
Help me, Rhonda. God, grant me the serenity. And get me through this weekend.