State of Disaster

I spent seven hours last night reading my manuscript.
I recant what I said yesterday about still laughing out loud when I read it.
There was no laughing out loud. I have now, officially, read it too many times. I'm kind of starting to hate it.
It makes me sick. Literally. I got motion sickness from scrolling through the document, and a headache as well.
And my house looks like a pack of rabid animals ransacked it, which in a way- is exactly what happened.
At one point, I glanced into the living room to check on this kids. They were supposed to be watching Marmaduke. Alex was sitting, sans diaper, on a pot.
And no, when I say 'pot' I do not mean 'potty.'
I mean an actual pot. 
"Where's your diaper?" I asked him, alarmed.
"In the wagon," he said.
Naturally.
"Why did you take it off?"
"Because I pooped."
Oh God. Which was bad enough.
But then I caught the dog in a compromising position with the diaper.
This morning when I woke up and opened the fridge I found the entire crate of juice boxes I had bought for back to school opened, with straws poked in them, some in various states of emptiness.
"I did it!" Alex said, proudly.
Note to self: do not leave two year old unattended.
Well, in retrospect that should go without saying.

It was with some happiness that I hit the send button and sent that blasted manuscript away.
But then when I crawled into bed, I started second guessing everything. I should have changed that, I should have looked at this or that- even though I did, but I should have looked harder. I remember that feeling of intense vulnerability from the last time I sent out the full.
It almost made me wish that I hadn't brought any of this on myself at all.
Almost.
But not quite.
Anyways, at least I didn't have to print it off this time.
But then I started to become paranoid and agitated that it got lost in the cyber world. I still don't completely trust my hotmail account since it was hacked, though I did recover everything and they say it's OK.
Note to self: Never give your password to so called Hot Mail Account Manager.
In retrospect, that, too sounds like it should be obvious.

Anyways, things are out of my hands, at least for the time being.
And now we wait.
And restock the juice boxes.
And the cookware.