Far more often than I would like, I wander around the room, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes I do this with a swiffer mop in my hand. I move slowly, my feet sliding instead of walking, while I stare, blankly at the ceiling. My children wander past and ignore me. Occasionally, one of them will mumble “have fun chasing squirrels” as they stomp away with something from the kitchen pantry. Today, I did my zombie squirrel hunt routine, but couldn’t find the source of the noise. Click, clack, ticka-ticka. I was certain that there was some destruction occurring that a few thwacks of the mop on the ceiling would cease. Ticka-ticka, click, clack. I was getting very frustrated, until, I found the source of the noise. Doug was broadcasting his nervous breakdown. Ignore the fact that he is breaking the rule of a happy marriage that only one partner can be crazy at a time. Instead, focus on the fact that he is accelerating my insanity by making noises like a squirrel eating the rafters. I may have to walk downstairs with a toy vw and punch him in the arm. Hard.