i want to go back to bed

It's just been one of those days.

bleh.

I didn't write yesterday (obviously).

I basically didn't feel like it.

There was no topic, no urgency, no ideas, nothing important to discuss with the www yesterday.  At least, it felt that way.

Having the 'normal' emotions of a woman coupled with the 'crazy' emotions of pregnancy is something which I can't even handle some days.  I can't imagine what it's like to be a person in my immediate presence.

It's very intriguing to me that on certain days, my circumstances dictate my mood.  And on other days, my emotions dictate my mood.  Sometimes, they both pig-pile on my pituitary gland to produce a not-so-favorable environment ('good' or 'bad').  And all that hormone rushing through a 4'11'' body can create a domino-effect of Hiroshima capabilities.  Stand back or you might get hurt.  Literally.

This past week I've felt 'bleh'.  Not a word, I know, yet it is somehow completely accurate.

Nothing has been particularly negative.  Or positive.  Even though wonderful things (and disappointments) have occurred.  It just gets sent out of my head as 'bleh'.

I'm just thankful God is good.  And that He is never affected by my circumstances or mood.  My point?  I'm glad I'm not God.  If I was, I'd be painting my nails and blissfully swimming in ice cream while destroying the lives of super-models.

Sorry.  Don't mind me.  I'm having a bleh-type-of-day.

P.S.  Happy St. Patrick's Day!

really? again?

There are days I feel as if I am living inside a sitcom.  Where actions, circumstances, words and other various things all take place for the pleasure and laughter of others.  Who they are that are watching my life and laughing, I don't know.  But I do know they are out there.  And they find great joy in my misfortune.

My husband has become desensitized to things falling apart, breaking, or simply failing to function.  Each time something like that happens, he lets whatever is in his hand (tools, objects, etc.)...drop.  To. the. floor.  Without so much as a blink or twitch of the eye.  He just simply walks away and continues to do what he was previously engaged in before it happened.

For example:  He had been looking in his closet for an article of clothing.  Discovering it's absence, he determined it must exist elsewhere in the house.  Most of his belongings do.  As he proceeded to grab the door knob to attempt his exit, it fell off into his hand.  He looked at it.  Allowed his brain to process the event.  Dropped it.  And left the room to continue finding his clothes.  His attitude remaining 'matter-of-factly'.  He just doesn't care anymore.

Because that sort of thing happens.  all. the. time.

To add to our long list of things that eerily compare to the movie The Money Pit, is our downstairs T.V.

It's on the fritz again.  It has broken once.  Now twice.  It doesn't even create that hopeful click, in spite of the continued blackness on the screen, when you hit the power button.  It does...nothing.  Except collect dust.  And if you know me at all, that's the last thing I need.  Something else to collect dust.  Something else to clean.

ugh.

I hate cleaning.

they're back

Migranes, oh migranes I hate you, you stink.
I wish I could wash you away in the sink.
If only a bomb would explode you to bits,
migranes oh migranes you're giving me fits.

I'd rather take baths with a man-eating shark,
or wrestle a lion alone in the dark.
Eat spinach and liver, pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the migraines my body assigns.

Migraines oh migraines YOU'RE LAST ON MY LIST.
I simply don't see why you even exist.
If you'd just disappear it would tickle me pink.
Migraines oh migraines I hate you, you stink.

- My personal adapted version
of Shel Silverstein's poem,
I Hate Homework