Seriously.
I have a confession.
And I mean this in all seriousness and no ill will to the horrible matter that in which directly follows in the foot steps of these matters. (please take this for what I am trying to say and no I will not be returning hate mail about how not PC I am about to be in what I am going to confess)
I hate drugs.
Now let me not confuse you with my adoration for the modern day epidural that I so quickly said, "Umm, Ahh, Yah!!!" to when I delivered the 3 little lovely birds that adorn my nest. But as we speak and I have a slight twitch (as the strong pain killers raced through her bloodstream and schreeched; "YIIIIPPPEEEE!!!")
I am sitting here contemplating if a better way to resolve the problem would be to:
#1- melt down and spoon feed myself the package of dark chocolate covered espresso beans from Starbucks in the fridge (which I proudly place as a little finishing jewel on my chocolate espresso muffins from a little kitchen called LuLu Muffin....oh wait, sorry.)
#2- try and see how crazy I can make my loving Mr. Kayano and how many times I can repeat the following; "I'm just gonna say this 1 more time, this is ridiculous and I promise I didn't do it on purpose." "Do we have any Vodka?"
#3- ice for 20, off for 20, ice for 20, off for 20, as she diligently sat on her ass waiting for lightening to strike her so at least she had a physical reason for sitting here doing NOTHING!!!
I am feeling nuts.
I am hating the side effects of everything man made that I am taking. (minus the fact that it makes my leg feel somewhat functional/normal) Shhh...
I am having dreams of telling Bone that he needs to call 911 because I can't get up fast enough to get to the phone. This would be the normal dreaming pattern for me circa 7/15/03, 10/01/05, and 12/04/07.
I am feeling downright crappy, crabby, and wondering if I should just go ahead and take up professional eating contests.
I am sad that my son asked me after we went to the track for our season kick off of "Track Thursday" if it was my turn now that Dad is done. (I walked away and pretended I didn't hear him)
I am getting sick of myself.
Blah.
Work tomorrow, maybe that will help.
Or maybe I need to tie another knot at the end of this rope and see if I can hang on a little longer.
My love, all my love,
drugged out on OBR
I have a confession.
And I mean this in all seriousness and no ill will to the horrible matter that in which directly follows in the foot steps of these matters. (please take this for what I am trying to say and no I will not be returning hate mail about how not PC I am about to be in what I am going to confess)
I hate drugs.
Now let me not confuse you with my adoration for the modern day epidural that I so quickly said, "Umm, Ahh, Yah!!!" to when I delivered the 3 little lovely birds that adorn my nest. But as we speak and I have a slight twitch (as the strong pain killers raced through her bloodstream and schreeched; "YIIIIPPPEEEE!!!")
I am sitting here contemplating if a better way to resolve the problem would be to:
#1- melt down and spoon feed myself the package of dark chocolate covered espresso beans from Starbucks in the fridge (which I proudly place as a little finishing jewel on my chocolate espresso muffins from a little kitchen called LuLu Muffin....oh wait, sorry.)
#2- try and see how crazy I can make my loving Mr. Kayano and how many times I can repeat the following; "I'm just gonna say this 1 more time, this is ridiculous and I promise I didn't do it on purpose." "Do we have any Vodka?"
#3- ice for 20, off for 20, ice for 20, off for 20, as she diligently sat on her ass waiting for lightening to strike her so at least she had a physical reason for sitting here doing NOTHING!!!
I am feeling nuts.
I am hating the side effects of everything man made that I am taking. (minus the fact that it makes my leg feel somewhat functional/normal) Shhh...
I am having dreams of telling Bone that he needs to call 911 because I can't get up fast enough to get to the phone. This would be the normal dreaming pattern for me circa 7/15/03, 10/01/05, and 12/04/07.
I am feeling downright crappy, crabby, and wondering if I should just go ahead and take up professional eating contests.
I am sad that my son asked me after we went to the track for our season kick off of "Track Thursday" if it was my turn now that Dad is done. (I walked away and pretended I didn't hear him)
I am getting sick of myself.
Blah.
Work tomorrow, maybe that will help.
Or maybe I need to tie another knot at the end of this rope and see if I can hang on a little longer.
My love, all my love,
drugged out on OBR
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