nesting.

The day when you find mice living in your cupcake pans and barely care anymore, you know you're close to hitting rock bottom. What's worse is tugging that pan out from under your stove, tossing the mouse in the air and causing it, completely accidentally, to fall to a painful, squishy death.

I feel a lot like that mouse. Except I haven't fallen yet. I'm still somersaulting through the air, facing my certain peril in terror and confusion. I don't know who displaced me and sent me flying. I only know that I can't do a thing about it.