When Life Hands You Lemons

Go apeshit.

Tear your hair out.

Let your heart hammer wildly in your chest.

Smoke 30 cigarettes and make your margaritas stronger that night, so that you're drooling 1/2 way through the first one instead of by the end of the second.

I believe that my life could best be described as part-life, part fucking lemon tree.
My whole existence is Lemons.

I'm a lemon.
My house is DEFINITELY a lemon.
My bitchy cat is a lemon.

Why the Pope married the Lemon Queen of Banshees is beyond me.
I'm pretty sure he knew what he was getting into, because I was the Absolutely Undefeated Champion of All That Makes a Terrible Girlfriend while we were dating, but still.
I do some wondering, sometimes.

I had a stressful day at work. I have been working hard and being productive, but I'm behind and I'm stressed and I'm pulled in a bunch of directions, and I'm not doing as well as I think I can in some areas, and my patience wore thin, looked like a sheet of glass for a second, and then snapped wildly earlier today and I lost it.

Lost every recipe for lemonade I've ever had.
Ready to quit, ready to walk out, ready to burn every bridge in the State of Washington.

And all I really want to know is....
When does life get just a little easier?
I don't even mean it needs to get cakewalk easy, but I'd like to be able to take a breath once in a while, and not finish something with the immediate thought that, "Aha! Now I can focus on this other thing!!"

You know?

By the way:

1 cup 1800 Reposado Tequila (100% de Agave)
1/3 cup Patron Citronage (or Cointreau if you're not a cheapskate)
1/3 cup Rose's (or equivalent) Sweetened Lime Juice
1/3 cup Sweet & Sour Mix

Pour in a small glass (trust me) packed full of ice (not kidding) and splash a teensy bit of Grand Marnier on top, and welcome to my evenings.

That is the new and improved and, as far as I'm concerned, PERFECT, Loma Linda's Margarita.