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First off, let me say that I was not aware that my comments thingie had any comments in it. Apparently, even if there is something in there, it still says �Comments (0)�, and I have no idea how to fix it. So I apologize for not acknowledging your thoughts, guys. I am retarded. You should know that by now. You know the second-best thing about a three-day weekend? The four-day work week that follows. It�s already Tuesday with minimal effort on my part. Rock. Except that I hate Tuesdays, but maybe this one will be okay because it�s sort of a fake Tuesday. I hope work will go easy on my delicate brain with its extra day of inactivity. I�m a bit foggy. What did you do this weekend? Please tell me somebody had more fun than me. The Diva did some public nudity AND a Nascar race, so she definitely outdid my marathon laundry and cleaning Olympics. I took the bronze in moldy carpet deodorizing, but came back for the gold in building a wall of folded clean laundry. Just don�t breathe on it. I�ll post a picture tomorrow of the amazing, somehow-not-tipping-over pile. (I was going to today, but I forgot the camera at home.) It is architectural genius, I am telling you. It must be seen to be believed. I got the basement back in shape for habitation, so we moved Nickolas back into his little corner last night, where he suffered nightmares all night and kept letting loose these bloodcurdling screams every hour or so until I made Nick get up and give him some Tylenol. Cutting four teeth at once would give me bad dreams too, poor baby. Listening to Nick and me fighting probably didn�t help him sleep either. Nick�s thing seems to be to start a fight with me right as I�m falling asleep because he knows I�ll agree to anything to get him to shut the fuck up and let me go to sleep. (If you�re reading this, honey, you know that�s what you do so don�t go getting all mad.) It�s always a variation on the same fight, about how I never say goodnight to him, or turn off all the lights, or want to have sex with him, or how I�m repulsed by him, or something along those lines. I always tell him that after a loooooooong day of people grabbing at me, climbing on me, yelling at me, and pulling my hair, the last thing I want is more human contact. I�m sorry, I know it sounds awful, but just once I want to sit without someone on my lap. I love my kids, I love my husband, but I love myself too and I�d like to spend some time with me. He complains that we never get to talk when the kids are awake, which is only somewhat true. The problem is the living with my parents thing. I know that that�s what is turning me into a giant ball of snark, and nothing is going to change that as long as we live there. With any luck (ha!) we should be out of there in about a month, which is only about two months behind schedule, and I will feel much better. I also think that moving really far away from our families will help bring us closer. Right now is just a very frustrating time for me. Very little in my life is how I would like it to be, and if I take it out on Nick that�s because he�s the closest person to me that I know will still love me, snark and all. It means I love you, honey. I promised I�d try to change, and I will, but you need to make an effort too. Like try not waking me up to fight with me, because right there I�m not listening to what you�re saying. I�m just pissed because I have to be up for work soon and I�m not sleeping. Okay? Good. Now that I have this gold membership, I realized that a lot more people read this thing than I thought. Holy crap. Hi, everyone! I also want to start a diaryring, but I can�t think of what it should be for. Anybody want to join my gang, I mean, ring? What should we call ourselves? This could be dangerous, you know� Kids are:Annoying song on bad work radio: Alanis Morissette, that new "I See You" song Last person who pissed me off:Last person that pissed me off: Stupid receptionist girl Heard in my house:Wishing: I was thinner so I could eat something without all the guilt Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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