I feel bad because I don’t write much anymore. I want to be a writer. I want to write. But there’s only so many things you can blog about before you become a broken record (i.e. the weather sucks, I want babies, I’m getting married, depression blows), so what to write about? Then I discovered a blog that A – is hilarious and B – employs a writing style that I quite enjoy, so I’m straight up copying it. Hope she doesn’t sue me.


Another reason I haven’t been writing is that work has been much too busy of late and, as you know, I don’t pay for internet at my house so we’re forced (ha) to use someone else’s unlocked network. Unfortunately that unlocked network is not exactly reliable and continuously knocks us off the internet, so in the middle of blogging suddenly I’m not connected and things get lost. So I do it at work. Which sucks, because I’m supposed to be working at work – you dig?  I mean, lunch breaks are one thing, but they’re only so long. And sometimes I have to pay my bills at lunch. Anyway – I’m at work right now. And it’s totally not my lunch break. But what are they going to do? Fire me?  Which brings me to my next point.


I really really REALLY reallyreallyreally hate when people say things like “short timer’s syndrome” or “a case of the Mondays” or “chocoholic” (this one especially irritates the word-lover in me, the coholic part of alcoholic comes from the word alCOHOL: chocolate (or work or sex) doesn’t have that word part in it, so chocoholic (or workaholic or sexaholic) doesn’t make sense, but I’m a curmudgeon, so I’ll be quiet). Point is: made-up disorders are a pet peeve, and unfortunately, people have been mentioning short timer’s syndrome (or disorder, or disease) to me lately seeing as how I only have 2 & 1/2 short weeks (that’s 12 works days) left here. Example conversation:

me: this day is going by so slowly.

co-worker: that’s just because you have short timer’s disease!

me: right. *forced, courtesy laugh*


My husband is working a different/new job through his temp agency these last few weeks before we go. His schedule? Noon to whenever they’re done. Which is usually after ten. Which means I’m in bed sleeping by the time he gets home, and he’s still in bed sleeping when I leave, so I’m suddenly remembering what it was like when I was single. I’d come home, not eat anything for dinner (except possibly some candy and/or popcorn) and either watch a movie or read a book until I went to sleep. It’s pretty lonely. I miss my husband.

That is all.