I'm not touching you

You know that sibling backseat of the car annoyance?  The finger pointed directly at you, spiraling mere fractions of an inch from your skin/book/jacket?  My insides feel like a big ol' "I'm not touching you" victim.

Hurricane - go away.  Don't come back.  You're not welcome here.  Ever.

Headache - see above.  I cannot function as a mom, much less human when I cannot bear light, sound, or quick movements.

Ah, and here's a little known fact:

A night off does not actually constitute a night "off" when I return to every dish in the house filthy and cluttering the counters and sink.  Especially when the next day is duty day.

I need a big ol' ray of good somewhere.  Where's my curly red-haired wig and shaggy dog when I need 'em?