I'm back. I need an outlet. I could dump all this on the hubs, but he'd probably just give me that look - that blank look he gets when I'm talking and I know he's either not paying attention or sleeping with his eyes open again. So here I am, dumping on you guys. It's probably more pleasurable for all involved if I don't call it dumping; there is sort of a negative connotation with that. Venting? Ranting? I'm not necessarily angry, at least not all the time. How about conversing? Let's converse, folks. Oooh, take it one step further - let's Chuck Taylor. Get it? No? Damn it. Don't look at me like that. Are you even awake?
So it's been a while. It has been a while. Where am I in life? Geographically speaking, I haven't moved a damn inch. Semi-frustrating at times; we've embraced the game of "how much furniture can we cram into a two-bedroom apartment" and so far, it appears that we're winning. Or maybe we're losing, I'm not sure. In either case, we have a lot of stuff in a little space. At least we're comfortable in our crowdedness; we got new furniture today. It's comfy. It's calling my name but I'm resisting the siren song, for the moment anyway. It's funny how furniture never looks as big in the store as it does when the delivery guys are trying to stuff your sofa through the front door. They saved the sofa and the wall, but we had to console a delivery guy with bloody knuckles with homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. Or maybe that was just the hubs' way of getting rid of some of my mediocre baking, I don't know. I guess it's better than him throwing them in the ditch. (Inside joke. Sorry.)
I probably don't weigh as much as the last time I wrote, and hallelujah for that. Birthing a 10-pound, four-ounce chubster helps in that department. Our kid count has risen to three and three is good. We are outnumbered. And somedays I think we're being outsmarted. We've taken to calling them by numbers instead of names; I thought I would be spared the dreaded "mommy brain" by continuing my education, but alas, the power of a constant barrage of cartoons and superheroes has turned my brain to mush. See? I'm way off topic. I was talking about my weight and now I'm all off on mushy brains and I suppose those things can be connected, because post-babies, I'm just sort of mushy all over, but it's not the direction I was going. So yeah, now that's out there - three babies has turned me into a giant blob. I'm not happy about it and I try to embrace that "love your body, it's given life" attitude bullshit but so far I'm not fooling myself. Mush is mush is mush and I is mush, people. It's not pretty. But here's the thing - I'm mushy, right? So I get upset that I'm mushy and what do I do when I'm upset? I eat. And I don't eat little bits of bad stuff, I eat ALL the bad stuff in a four-block radius. And then it only makes me mushier, which makes me more upset, which makes me eat more... You can see where this is going. So what do I fix first - the mush or the head? Some might say that a little bit of healthiness would fix both at the same time but those people probably like people like Jillian Michaels or they are Jillian Michaels and if Jillian Michaels ever preached her BS to my face I'd have to smack her in her big horse mouth. And then I'd have to run away really fast, or at least as fast as a giant blob of mush could run, which let's face it, isn't that fast at all. And then I'd probably get my ass kicked because I've seen what happens when Jillian gets mad, I've seen the Biggest Loser, she's a bat shit crazy bizzo when she wants to be. So after all that, I'd be a big bruised mushy blob, making it even more difficult to partake in any form of exercise and increasing the likelihood of stuffing my face full of junk food and you see where I am? I'm right back to square one, people. Only I've gained six pounds and I've got a black eye.
And there you are. Or there I am. Whatever.
So yeah. See? Time away doesn't mean that I've become more normal; it's only given me more time to fester in my craziness.
Fester. That is such a great word.