In which I beg forgiveness

I fucked up.

I was supposed to arrange for a weekend getaway with my bridesmaids to my parents' cottage. But in the hubbub of house hunting and thinking about the wedding, I totally dropped the ball, forgot all about the trip, and double booked the weekend to go to Ottawa.

I feel like an idiot. A complete and utter moron. I've been feeling terrible about it all weekend, and I can't forgive myself this humiliating lapse in friendship. For one, I know my two girls needed the getaway to de-stress from a long and hard summer; and two, I wanted to be, you know, a friend. Not the girl who just forgets the people who are supposed to be close to her.

In the mire of life, of balancing work with play and family with friends, it's easy to lose sight of the important things. Not only did I lose sight, I was totally and utterly blindsided by the spectacle of home ownership, and then, instead of looking around and getting my bearings, I put on blinders and focused on one thing.

Fuck. I hate disappointing others, and I hate being a disappointment. I hate feeling like I'm unreliable, and I hate that I've just totally let this slip through the cracks. This is almost as bad as that nightmare I had about leaving my babies in the trunk of the car, and them turning into frozen chickens.

To my ladies, if they're reading this: I'm. So. Sorry. Please, just beat the crap out of me next time you see me. I'll come bearing steak and crepes and the saddest hang-dog face ever.