Friday, November 9, 2012


Let me preface this by saying that I have not yet calmed down. I am writing in a close to limbic state here so please do not contact the police or the local mental institution to do a home safety check. For the record, Ellis is asleep, thank Jesus and I am settling down to watch back-to-back Gossip Girl as soon as I finish this. Now, that being said, this has been one of the worst EFFING weeks of my life (the fact that I didn't use the F word just then is a.) not at all satisfying and b.) a good sign.). Aaron is hunting, which is something I promised him I would never begrudge him if we ended up together. After this week however, I rather eat pink sludge for the rest of my life if that means I don't ever have to single-parent a teething infant again. Let me clarify: teething, croupy, has the rhino virus (common cold) infant. She nearly bit both my nipples off more times than I care to keep track of this week, she hit me with her EFFING baby Einstein boom-box ON MY HEAD, while I WAS LOOKING THE OTHER EFFING WAY. I saw stars, nearly passed out, etc. The house is a disaster. I won't even let her crawl on the floor for fear she will contract Hepatitis. I have been to the pediatrician three times this week and they keep giving her prescriptions and I'm wondering when they're going to catch on and give me an EFFING prescription. Xanax sounds nice. Shit, I will take a trank shot in between the eyes at this point.

I should also add that I chose this week to do a detox. Why? I DON'T EFFING KNOW!!! Bad idea, really bad idea. Some folks suggested that detoxing should be a pleasurable experience, but some people also suggested giving birth was pleasurable so to each their own I guess. I am not an "unhealthy" person. Relatively speaking, I'm healthier than most so a detox for me is just adding insult to injury. I should have seen the signs that this week was going to lead me to contemplating creative ways of killing myself, but I didn't and I kept on with the detox. Again, bad idea.

Last night I caved and ate almost a half of a box of Cheez-its. I NEVER eat cheez-its, I don't even know how they ended up in my cabinet. Low and behold, snack food! I couldn't stop. They tasted like a dream. I kept thinking, mouth stuffed, "Why would I do a thtupid thing like detothing anyway. Simple carbths make me tho happy. Nom, nom, nom." Well, I woke up with a wicked creak in my neck. We're talking about 25% mobility. I'm not blaming the cheez its but the timing is oddly suspicious.

This afternoon I called Aaron and cried. I'm glad he's not an alarmist because we sounded bad. Ellis was barking like a seal and crying because I'm too afraid to nurse her and I'm crying because my neck hurts and Ellis weights 100 pounds and I can't pick her up without mind numbing pain and so crying seemed like my best option. This of course, made Ellis cry harder because she's never seen her mommy cry. It's not pretty and she's probably thinking to herself, "Yikes, is that how I look when I cry? That is so unattractive."

Oh and I'm going to either kill or give away the dogs. I might kill them so we can eat them that way Aaron doesn't have to go hunting anymore. Jaco tacos.

Well, this has helped a lot. As will the brimming glass of wine I will enjoy after my chiropractor fixes my neck.

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