Paper or plastic?

This is crux of the existential crisis I am in right now. Am I made of paper or plastic? 
If you have read my rants of late, you may have deduced that things are a wee bit sucky. I have tried, oh, I have tried to remain positive. But the road of positive thoughts for this woman is a short stretch of pavement.

More often than not lately, my mind drags me on journeys down deeply rutted tracks, up the sides of treacherous mountains, sends me dangling over the lips of sheer cliffs and then tumbling into dark ravines. And that’s just while I’m waiting for the coffee to brew.
I sometimes don’t know which way to turn.
I would say our family is in the worst possible position we’ve been in ever. It’s all relative. The husband half would cast things in a different light: He’d say there are many in worse shape than us. But this isn’t his forum. Seeing someone passed out in the gutter doesn’t make me feel better about my station.

Most of it is sheer bad luck/timing. A lot of it is the economic toilet our city and state has been in for what seems like years.

These are the times when you see what you and the rest of your clan are made of — are you tough as steel, able to deflect the hard knocks? Or are you composed of thin paper, easily shredded and scattered?

I’d like to be this right now:


But I’m feeling more like one of these:

I’m not a rock, but I’m tougher than paper, by God. I’m feeling easily perforated these days, a little shredded around the edges and prone to melting under intense heat.

So, it’s a good thing I found these folks, hanging out with their cool shoes and freshly manicured toenails over at:

Reading their various and sundry posts has me feeling more like this:


Check it out for yourself.

Meanwhile, if you’re on the interstate and you see one of those discarded plastic bag thingies from the local pharmacy or Target impaled on a tree branch or bouncing along the shoulder like an urban tumbleweed, well, kindly think of me, won’t you?