I've been a very bad girl. So bad I should be punished.
If anyone wishes to punish me they could try taking away my chocolate, although I would advise against it if they value the use of their hands in the future.
I've been bad to myself, you see. Since Spa Weekend I haven't been taking very good care of myself. I've been eating poorly, sleeping less, whining more (see below), ignoring pain (see further below) and not blogging much (see the last few weeks).
The last little while has been mostly sucktastic: news of tooth decay and dental surgeries for two of the gremlins, no hope in the near future for the reinstitution of hours (and thus full pay) at Geekster's work, and added expenses as the insurance estimates start trickling in. We're on the hook for about $800 of Spawn's surgery and, while I considered prostitution as an quick-fix money maker, I don't think I have any leopard spotted bras or frayed jean skirts, and none of my shoes have heels high enough or colours bright enough to get noticed on a street corner in the dark.
...Also, did you know what you actually have to do as a prostitute to make money? You don't just lean over and talk to people in cars while holding a cigarette and looking flirty. There's... other... stuff. Stuff involving getting in the car. Ewww.
Anyway, since I'm not in the mood to be replying lipstick that much in a day, I've decided to whore myself out in other ways; I'm doing casual childcare and some light cleaning and sorting for a friend. I'm also strongly considering getting an actual postpartum doula certification as long as it doesn't break the bank, and doing some real, paid writing.
Oh, and we're getting a tax return for the first time in ten years. I had big plans about how to spend the $1200 until Geekster said nothing would look as nice on me as less debt.
Damn him and his reason.
All this stress and new work has wreaked havoc on my poor, delicate neck. And since cashflow has been a bit of an issue I haven't been seeing my chiropractor on a regular basis. And by 'on a regular basis' I mean any time in the last six months.
Then I woke up and couldn't move my neck.
For three days.
Pain is incredibly motivating.
I saw her this evening and will be seeing her once or twice a week for the next little while. I have some kind of syndrome - the name escapes me, but I think it's something like When You Move Your Neck It Feels Like Someone Is Throwing A Fucking Hammer At Your Back Syndrome. Something like that.
Anyway, I'm now able to blog again because I can look at my screen without wimpering. It feels good. I missed you almost as much as you've undoubtedly missed me. Wipe away those tears, my lambs, for The Maven is back and she has many great stories to tell about her sorry little life in the suburbs.
Right now I'm going to go make myself a late dinner and watch some X-Files. My twelve-year-old is obsessed and I'm enjoying drooling over Mulder in Season 1. Not so much Scully, though. She doesn't get attractive for a while yet. At some point they make her look less like a schoolmarm and she catches some sex appeal. Right now she's just annoyingly skeptical and trying so hard to be normal.
Don't try so hard, Scully. Some of us fringe girls are never quite normal and it's not a bad thing. At the very least, it means a lot of people will want to be around you for entertainment purposes or because they're addicted to crazy, but either way you'll sometimes score free coffee. Also, you might find yoruself doing cool things like talking to fictional characters on a show that ended several years ago.
I need to get out more.
If anyone wishes to punish me they could try taking away my chocolate, although I would advise against it if they value the use of their hands in the future.
I've been bad to myself, you see. Since Spa Weekend I haven't been taking very good care of myself. I've been eating poorly, sleeping less, whining more (see below), ignoring pain (see further below) and not blogging much (see the last few weeks).
The last little while has been mostly sucktastic: news of tooth decay and dental surgeries for two of the gremlins, no hope in the near future for the reinstitution of hours (and thus full pay) at Geekster's work, and added expenses as the insurance estimates start trickling in. We're on the hook for about $800 of Spawn's surgery and, while I considered prostitution as an quick-fix money maker, I don't think I have any leopard spotted bras or frayed jean skirts, and none of my shoes have heels high enough or colours bright enough to get noticed on a street corner in the dark.
...Also, did you know what you actually have to do as a prostitute to make money? You don't just lean over and talk to people in cars while holding a cigarette and looking flirty. There's... other... stuff. Stuff involving getting in the car. Ewww.
Anyway, since I'm not in the mood to be replying lipstick that much in a day, I've decided to whore myself out in other ways; I'm doing casual childcare and some light cleaning and sorting for a friend. I'm also strongly considering getting an actual postpartum doula certification as long as it doesn't break the bank, and doing some real, paid writing.
Oh, and we're getting a tax return for the first time in ten years. I had big plans about how to spend the $1200 until Geekster said nothing would look as nice on me as less debt.
Damn him and his reason.
All this stress and new work has wreaked havoc on my poor, delicate neck. And since cashflow has been a bit of an issue I haven't been seeing my chiropractor on a regular basis. And by 'on a regular basis' I mean any time in the last six months.
Then I woke up and couldn't move my neck.
For three days.
Pain is incredibly motivating.
I saw her this evening and will be seeing her once or twice a week for the next little while. I have some kind of syndrome - the name escapes me, but I think it's something like When You Move Your Neck It Feels Like Someone Is Throwing A Fucking Hammer At Your Back Syndrome. Something like that.
Anyway, I'm now able to blog again because I can look at my screen without wimpering. It feels good. I missed you almost as much as you've undoubtedly missed me. Wipe away those tears, my lambs, for The Maven is back and she has many great stories to tell about her sorry little life in the suburbs.
Right now I'm going to go make myself a late dinner and watch some X-Files. My twelve-year-old is obsessed and I'm enjoying drooling over Mulder in Season 1. Not so much Scully, though. She doesn't get attractive for a while yet. At some point they make her look less like a schoolmarm and she catches some sex appeal. Right now she's just annoyingly skeptical and trying so hard to be normal.
Don't try so hard, Scully. Some of us fringe girls are never quite normal and it's not a bad thing. At the very least, it means a lot of people will want to be around you for entertainment purposes or because they're addicted to crazy, but either way you'll sometimes score free coffee. Also, you might find yoruself doing cool things like talking to fictional characters on a show that ended several years ago.
I need to get out more.