Flusterated is a feeling. You may think to yourself, “Now this wacko is truly crazy!” But hear me out, flusterated could certainly be a word! Today there are more ridiculous words being created that are acceptable to the masses.
Take, for example, ‘totes’ the slim down word to the very 90’s word totally and infuriating words like ‘bae’ which is I guess a term if endearment that kids these days like to use in place of babe? Yes that’s a question mark. It’s supposed to be there.
Flusterated is an Angelism. Which is another made up word meaning crazy ass words or phrases Angela comes up with.
Now see this in your minds eye: You get up obscenely early every day. You think you have time for one heated cup if coffee from yesterday’s pot before the kids wake up (let’s be honest you don’t have time to make a fresh pot and wait for it to brew). You sit down with said cup of bitter stale caffeine and take a sip. Yum. Just then, you hear the dreaded threenager (another socially acceptable made up word) say “Mommy, I want milk!”
You jump, startled, betrayed by your own attempts to stay quiet while using the microwave, sure to open it before it hits zero and beeps a high volume beep of “WAKE UP EVERYONE!” You spill coffee on the only new clean nightgown you own. Damn it, you get the milk for the little benevolent dictator, pat yourself dry with someone’s old shirt and flip on the cartoons.
As you take your second sip you hear your eight-year-old shuffle up to you only to announce loudly “Mom, I have to go poop.” You attempt to be the loving supportive mother you aspire to be and say through your teeth “Alright, go on then, do you need something? ” he just giggles and makes his way into the bathroom.
Ok, good everyones happy. You then think to yourself, I’ll just head outside and drink this and listen to the birds chirp. You sit on the cold damp cast iron chair and take the third sip of now cold coffee that you heated up fifteen minutes ago and attempt to start a new blog post.
“Mommy! I need to go pee!” Shouts the little tyrant through the storm door, hanging from the doorknob that is due to fall off because, no matter how many times you tell them not to, they still insist on slacking their body weight whilst being suspended by a five dollar replacement doorknob you purchased only last week.
You sigh, your head begins to spin, you hands ball up into fists and your eyes blur with tears. You can’t help her, there is but one bathroom and you know it’s almost too late to even make it to a bush behind the house. You vow silently to yourself that you will just have to clean up the pee and soak the pjs in the tub.
You attempt to ignore the little pleas for potty needs and grasp at your cup, making a small waving motion towards the door. You miss judge your hand placement and thrust the already cracked cup to the concrete at your feet, spewing coffee all over the porch, breaking your cup and speckling your legs with the stale liquid.
You know the fuzzy distorted colors on the tv when the cable fails? Yeah, that’s the color of Flusterated. That’s all you see as you hold back your sobbing, you can’t let the rugrats feel as if they have upset you. You know they would be devastated if they did. So you laugh, your neighbors probably already think your nuts, so laughing like a psychopath at 6:05am is not out of your crazy Realm. You laugh and go inside, thankful as you see your son walk from the bathroom and just make it with the threenager to the toilet.
What does this have to do with writing a book? It has everything to do with it. I push through that fuzzy distortion, most days failing, but occasionally fighting through the flustration to successfully become immersed in writing.
Hopefully enough to give my readers one hell of a story to enjoy…eventually.