I’ve been away.  Nothing big has happened and I think I have a tendency to do this for a few months out of the year.  Usually from September to or through April.  Ok, maybe a better way to say it would be that a few months out of the year I’m ok.  Anyway, moving on…

I have a house.  I want to sell it.  I want to build a new house.  We actually have the opportunity to do that.  What I seem to be lacking is time.  It always comes back to time, or the lack thereof.  Even once I have some of that elusive time thing, other people want it and I’m all “leave a bitch alone” in my head.  I think these things but then I hear what is suspiciously my voice saying things like, “sure, not a problem”.  I’m working on it. 

Have I bitched about my inability to conceive?  If not, I need to say I’m having issues getting pregnant.  The issue is that I’m not.  It took 3 years to get pregnant with my son and apparently, at least that many to have the next child.  I’ve run out of ways to explain the roller coaster ride of joy that experience has become.  We’re working on it.  My hubby had his sperm counted, there’s plenty and they’re healthy.  I had blood work done and contrary to popular belief, my hormone levels are indeed normal.  The next step is an HSG.  Look it up.  It involves x-rays and is internal.  Hubby gets to jack off into a cup, I get to spend 15 minutes in pain.  This is fair because? 

I had my brother live with us for a short period of time.  This was because my mother’s home was and still is a dilapitated turd.  I thought we could help.  I was wrong, we could not.  My mother is/was a hoarder of animals but I guess I can say she was a good hoarder.  She tried to take better care of the animals than she did herself or my brother.  But, my brother is 21.  It’s not like someone should be taking care of him at this point.  Over 70 dogs were signed over to the SPCA on Christmas day and we’re moving on from that.  My brother is not here now and I have my office back.  Do you know how hard it is to write a bitch-fest when the second you stand up, someone swoops in like a buzzard on roadkill?  PC does not mean public computer.  It’s personal computer not public. 

So, today I’m just zoning when I shouldn’t be.  I should be washing the hubby’s 3 loads of laundry, packing the house and doing whatever it is that I should be doing.  Yesterday was the memorial service for my best friend’s mother.  It was cancer.  I wish you supposed adults would stop fucking around with that.  Apparently, The Big C does not fool around.  My dad was 43 when he died.  Her mother was 53.  Both of them were scared of it being serious so they ignored it.  Can someone learn a lesson from this? 

That’s all for now.