My mind is rarely at rest. As an insomniac, I have taken to keeping my phone on my nightstand so I can jot down the thoughts that pop into my head at 3:00am. It seems that the middle of the night is when I frequently remember that I need to pick up a birthday card, or that we need eggs or that the permission slip for my daughter’s field trip is two days overdue.

During the day, my mind is constantly occupied as well. If I’m not reading, writing or watching television, then my brain starts getting busy. But, this isn’t when I have coherent thoughts…this is when my head is filled with irritating music.

For instance, every day when I make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at work, I sing “Bootylicious”. That’s right. I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly. On Sloppy Joe days, I channel Adam Sandler. When we serve fruit salad, it’s The Wiggles.

The problem is that I don’t invite this music. I don’t ask it to come in, sit down and kick up its feet. But, it does. Sometimes it stays for tea, then grabs a pillow and plops down for a long nap.

Yesterday my day started with my son humming “Oh Susanna”, which stayed in my head until I made the PBJ’s. “Bootylicious” hung around until one of my co-workers asked if I had seen the guy on American Idol singing “Pants on the Ground”. Maybe that song wouldn’t be so bad if I knew more than ten words.

After school, my son mentioned how much he likes the song “Down by the Station”. Which turned out to be awesome because it’s completely normal for a 38 year old woman to be walking through Target singing songs about “little puffer bellies all in a row”.

When I got home I found that someone had sent me a video of Justin Timberlake singing “Hallelujah” from the Hope for Haiti telethon. I knew it would be stuck in my head, likely for the rest of the day.

And after all that bad music, what was my first reaction when I saw that link in my in-box?

Hallelujah.

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So, you know how you have a lot to do when there’s less than two weeks before Christmas? And then your kid gets a cold so bad that he throws up when he coughs because he’s so full of mucus? And then your dog gets a massive bladder infection and ear infection? Oh, and you have to fly to a black-tie, corporate party in Atlanta because your husband’s company just KNOWS you hate to fly? Yeah, me too.

I don’t know about you, but I was able to hold it together with all that stress…especially because I got some Xanax to help me get through the flight. The flight which had me so crippled with fear that I could barely function.

On the way to Atlanta on Saturday, the medicine helped a lot, until we hit turbulence. When my husband saw me holding on tightly to my tray table, he ordered me a vodka and cranberry. That drink was, without a doubt, the best drink I have ever had…until he ordered me a second one. One-and-a-half Xanax and two drinks. What plane?

When we arrived, we heard from the dog sitter that the dog was doing okay, my mom told me that my son was hanging in there, and I had lived through the flight. Things were going great!

Until after the party when my right wrist started itching. I silently thanked my mother for passing me the genes for spider veins and sensitive skin and I chalked it up to a cheap bracelet I had been wearing.

But, by yesterday morning I knew it wasn’t just sensitive skin. I had hives. If you have never had the pleasure of having hives, let me describe it for you. It’s like being covered with mosquito bites…everywhere. A thousand of them. On your scalp, your eyes, inside your ears, your shoulders, your elbows, your forearms, your hands, your stomach, your crotch, your thighs, your knees, your shins, your ankles and, my personal favorite, the soles of your feet. I was scratching so much that my husband said I looked like a dog…with fleas…and bedbugs.

The concierge brought me some Benadryl, but by the time we got to the airport yesterday I was feeling miserable. While everyone else was printing their boarding passes, I was all, “Hey Delta dude, is there a medical clinic up in here?”

There was. It was upstairs next to the USO, where there were military personnel all over the place. Then I was all, “Hey folks, thanks for risking your lives and protecting my family, but can you get out of my way because I have HIVES!” They were happy to oblige, likely because they thought I was crazy as I kept taking off my shoes to scratch the bottom of my feet. Also, I may have slightly resembled a leper.

The doctor immediately gave me a shot of steroids, a pack of Prednisone and then asked me if I realized that my blood pressure was 160/104. Really? Maybe that’s because I’m agitated and want to tear my own skin open and I would rather take off all my clothes and wriggle around on a bed of nails or rub up on the scratchy side of a velcro rug than be here talking to you.

The doctor assumed that the hives were from the Xanax, so I had to white-knuckle it all the way home. And when we flew through clouds for a good five minutes and I couldn’t see anything out the window and we were flying through “rough air”, I’m sure that I no longer looked like a dog.

Because this chick? Was sweating like a pig.

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1. Art Garfunkel.

2. Seeing dog hair on my floor.

3. My son’s aim in the bathroom.

4. The fact that the laundry never stops.

5. Holiday shopping on December 1st and seeing the store has been ransacked and stock is depleted.

6. Heartburn.

7. Dry hands.

8. Bills.

9. Cold weather.

10. Thinking it was Wednesday and it was only Tuesday.

11. Realizing that even though I’m halfway through, this is going to be a very long week.

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