So I knew the day was going to suck, but I really had no idea just how much it really could suck.  How much wood would a woodchuck suck if a woodchuck could suck wood kinda suck…

I dunno where I am.  I think I may have mentioned that earlier today, but honestly, I can’t remember a damn thing I got down.  I was in such a hurry for one, and for two, I had a baby in my lap and a toddler “brushing” my hair.  The whole brushing thing was distracting to say the least…  Anywho…  I find that writing (typing) is therapeutic for me, even if I don’t necessarily discuss what it is that is bugging me.  I think just the act of organizing my thoughts, choosing my words, and making a concerted effort to express myself helps.  I can’t explain it, really.  There have been plenty of times that I just sort of look down and think, “Did I write all that?”  I think it would be really cool if I were psychic and could do the whole “automatic writing” thing.  Imagine what I might write then! 

Can I just interct here real quick that the Winter Olympics is pretty cool?  On that same strand of thought, who the hell thought, “Let’s ski as fast as we can toward this weird ramp, and then try to do all kinds of flips, and then land them IN THE SNOW ON SKIS?”  I mean, it’s really cool, but talk about crazy…

Anywho…  I had nice big glass of wine.  I mean, 10-12 ounces worth.  It was a regular cup, not a wine glass.  Now I am working on about 16 ounces worth of hibiscus…  you know, champagne and cranberry juice?  It’s about 15 ounces of champagne…  It’s barely pink.  *snicker*  If I finish this without passing out, I think I may uncork another bottle.  *hiccup*  Just kidding…  about the hiccup.  I can hold my stuff…

I have decided that I am either ridiculously talented, or insane.  While I would obviously prefer the former, I think the latter is more likely.  You’re probably wondering what the hell I am talking about…  Whenever I think about Gram and my inability to deal with her…  Well, with her, I realize that no one else I know that has ever lost someone they are close to does what I do.  None of them have ever said they get double-vision: they don’t see a scene from their past with their lost person on top of the scene they are seeing in the present.  They can’t shut down when people ask about thier person.  They can cry and try to block it out, but they all seemed a little shocked when I said I actually miss part of the conversations about people bring her up.  I can, apparently, even respond to questions and maintain my involvement in the conversation, but don’t ask me about it later.  I will have no idea what you are talking about.  I think if I could teach this skill, I may have the market cornered on grief counseling.  Why be sad if you don’t have to?  Yes, yes, it is probably eating away at me like acid, but let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we?  You say crazy, I say talented.  See?

So this coming week…  Probably my least favorite week of the year.  I’ll just leave it at that.

There is this commercial for a plastic surgeon and it ends with, “Only your kids should see you as a Mommy.”  I got on their website and sent the surgeon a nasty gram.  I was tactful, and left out all curse words, though it was difficult.  I just want to know what, exactly, is so horrible about being seen as a Mommy.  Any takers here?  Bueller?  Bueller?  I’ll give you a Mommy Makeover.  It comes in a bottle, doesn’t require weeks of recovery, and it’s a helluva lot cheaper…  It might not make me look better, but it might not make Dr. Galumbeck look like such a douchebag, either.

Dizzy Girl is sweating in bed.  She is wearing a onesie and she’s still sweaty.  Poor Dizzle.  She can’t win.

I don’t want to get up in the morning…  at least not at any hour that could be considered decent.  If tomorrow is half as bad as today, I may not make it through the day sober…  just sayin’.

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