Its 11:15pm on Saturday night. My head is ringing with a headache, little teeny pulses just above and to the right of my right eye. I'm tying typing with my eyes closed. I wanna go to bed.
But no. I'm waiting on... laundry. That's right, the bitching in my last post has led to 24-hour karma turnaround. When W went to wash some whites (I'm a bad wife, he had no clean socks) he found the dog bed in the washer. From 2 days ago. In his words, it now smelled like wet ass, and not the clean, good, ooh-gimme-a-spanking kind. So after washing his whites, I'm now waiting for the wet ass dog bed to rewash. I'm just hoping I don't have to do it a second time.
My mother has recently gotten into making her own cards (hang on, I'll tie all this together in a minute). She took a workshop at her church, and was so excited she started stealing ad postcards from stores that had pictures she liked on them (not just one, the stack of them). I took her to a holiday card making class last week at the Paper Source in Pasadena. I really hadn't stepped foot in there since I OD'ed on them while planning my wedding. We made 7 super cute holiday cards that I'm sure she will never give away, and she has called me twice about what specialty crafting supplies she wants to pick up so she can attempt to make more before the holidays.
So this is why I'm nuts (hang on, the tie in is coming). It's 11:25pm and I'm waiting on a f-ing wet dog bed. I still have whites to fold, but I'm going to stay in denial a little longer. I just launched a weekly newsletter which now definitely has to be weekly, because I told everyone on my mailing list that I would. Talk about committment, now I have to be witty and pithy every Thursday. I still have to build a website to go along with this newsletter - hey, who's that over there? Oh, right, that's my web designer and my blank web template, waiting for me to give him/it direction. What's this on my desk? Right, blank, white, directionless paper...
There's a sugar pumpkin on the counter that I'm supposed to be carving. I'm then supposed to scrape out the pulp and steam it and try to make a soup with it, because it's an article I want to include in the newsletter, but I won't until I try the soup myself. There is frozen white peach pulp in the freezer, which I have been procrastinating turning into actual white peach jam. And my ass has got to board that train, because pomegranate season is upon us, and in no time my friend A will be leaving bags of them on my porch and scampering away. Then I will have bags of pomegranates, waiting to be mushed up with berries for jam, not as easy or as quick as it sounds.
And tonight, for some reason, I decided that even though I wasn't going to make my own holiday cards this year (you know, due to time constraints), I could find time to make gift tags, little mini versions of the cards I learned to make last week. So I hauled out the paper cutter and the icicle punches and now there's a little stack of half-finished (of course they're half-finished!) gift tags sitting on the dining table. I would take a picture of them (they are super cute, even half-finished), except the battery in my camera died. The tags are sitting on the dining table, where my husband dined on hot dogs and I ate a frozen pizza tonight because I was simply too tired to cook.
This is why I'm nuts. Am I the only one? What sane person does this to themselves? What has splintered in my psyche that causes me to self-flagellate in this way? And I have a 18 week old son whom I swear, is not neglected. He's in his crib, sleeping on his tummy right now....
Doh! Oh well, that's a topic for another Bad Mommy Blog later. Right now I have whites to fold.
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