Because otherwise, I am not going to write. Seriously, this is just not going to happen for me if I don't have a deadline, so comments/suggestions/etc are welcome. I did great in writing class because there was a due date, and I do well if I commit to these "one entry a day, week, whatever" things. On my own, though? Not so much. My brain is just one long run on sentence.
What have I been up to?
* First there was the lead up to San Francisco. Long work hours, work drama, wanting to spend any minute left with Zygote and YG.
* And then there was San Francisco. I practically had a stroke leading up to this trip. I couldn't imagine being away from Zygote that long, and I was panicking about her starving to death and/or loathing me when I got back. Or worse, forgetting me. I also over-planned a bit, trying to imagine what it was going to be like dealing with the TSA and a cooler full of breastmilk.
As usual, my imagination was far, far worse than reality. It was fine. The TSA gave me no problems at all. The pumping sucked, but I expected that, and I can now cross "pump at 35,000 feet" off my life's to-do list. Sadly, I will probably never be a member of the mile-high club, but pumping? Aw, yeah. Rock!
I suffered from WILD mood swings the entire time I was gone. I could go from "woo hoo, I can do whatever I want. Let's go get fucked up!" to "I am going to steal your baby and suckle it" in a matter of seconds. And then I got a sinus infection and spent a day in bed. And then some bitch told me that I didn't know how to do my job, and I actually called YG and cried and said "I want to come home" like a kid calling his mom from summer camp. And then one of my work BFFs got some shit news. And then I ate nothing but cookies and bacon and alcohol for four days. And then I got ripped a new asshole by someone super senior. And....EXHAUSTING.
And, oh yeah, and then I took a red eye home, managed to get a cab from the only white, English-speaking cabbie around who also happened to be a talker and Glen Beck hater and 'the world is ending' kind of dude, and at 7:30 a.m. , opened the door to my wide-awake baby, overtired husband, and my parents, sleeping on an air mattress in the living room of our very-small apartment.
* For the past few weeks, I have just been digging out, and getting into near fist fights at Shaws. I'm still training for that half marathon, and the runs are getting longer and more intense, and the rest of my time is spent with Zygote.
So, yeah, I need a motherfucking project.