Here’s what I could tell you; that I have a raging headache, that I threw my back out two days ago and have been working from bed, that I’m worried about my husband who has, what we think is, nerve damage, that I’m terrified about our money situation and wondering if it’s legal to sell your kidney, and that I can’t shake the memory of seeing our aunt the other day, at 96 years old and oh, so fragile, lying in her bed, knowing it was likely the last time I will see her on this earth.

Pretty much, I could tell you about lots of body parts, pain and dying. I’m also available for parties.

I could tell you that I’m sad there is a hole in my favorite pants, that it’s already too cold outside for my liking, or that I think I may have an addiction to peanut butter flavored cereal.

I might want to mention that I have one foot bigger than the other, my right leg is shorter than my left and that my house is never, ever clean. Ever.

Or, we can talk about how the worst thing I’ve ever attended was a monster truck rally, that I prefer white candles and silver jewelry, that I have the best readers anyone could ask for, or that there is nothing that feels quite as good as a hug (except maybe a margarita when it’s 75 degrees outside).

I could say that my kids amaze me EVERY SINGLE DAY, that my dad is funnier than your dad, and that my husband is the grumpiest, kind-hearted man you will ever meet. Oh, and that although I spend my day in yoga pants, despite never having done yoga, my favorite magazine is InStyle.

Or, I could just show you a picture of my son holding a giant mushroom.

Welcome to my brain.

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