I am driving Chase to the doctor this morning (turns out he has pneumonia, poor little guy) and I am mentally going over my would-have-done shopping list for today. I calculate the speed at which I can whip through Sam's Club and debate leaving him home for a quick trip.
I then imagine the house burning down in my absence - a freakishly bizarre electrical problem that only happens one in a gazillion times. He and his little coughing self are asleep in the basement and don't get out in time. I am heartbroken at the thought, and figure that I'll have to go to jail for my horrendous parenting. I picture saying tearful goodbyes to the other two at the jailhouse door, me in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. I also imagine that the Husband will wait faithfully for about two weeks.
By the time we reach the doctor's office, I am in tears over my lost child, my now motherless and abandoned children, and my burned-down house. I am also angry with The Husband for having an affair while I was in prison.
It only takes two minutes to get to the doctor's office.
It may take me all day to stop being mad at The Husband for having that affair in my imagination.