is golden.  Or nice.  Or horrible.  Yes, I feel like a schizo right now (don’t worry, I checked the spelling).

I sent one of the lovlies off to Lito and Lita’s house for the weekend.  She was invited to a birthday party that we were not.  This kid has a bigger social life than we do.  The other chubster is napping.  So, for all intensive purposes, I’m alone.  ALONE.  IN MY OWN HOME.  Which happens NEVER.  Sweet Jesus.  And what am I doing?  Yes, the same shit I do when my kids are here.  The same shit I do when my husband is here.

I feel like I should be doing cartwheels naked through my first floor.  Except that I can’t do a cartwheel.

I have a party tonight, so I should take a shower and take my sweet ass time getting ready.  There is currently a small putting green on my bedroom floor from my husband’s golf shoes, so I could be cleaning up there.  Nope, I’m checking Facebook, making sure I friend Leslie Marinelli (duh, TheBeardedIris), who is switching her FB account, and drinking Diet Coke.

What is WRONG with me?

I finally feel like I can write again, I don’t know why.  I felt like my creative juices just weren’t flowing.  In the four weeks of monsoons recently, I just haven’t felt up to much, other than praying that my kids won’t attack one another while we are stuck inside every day.

Oh and yes, I’m trying REALLY f-ing hard not to eat everything in my pantry.


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