Maybe I do have really rotten PMS problems. I didn't think that was due for another week, but then I'm not the timely girl I once was either. Anyway, this could explain the crying fit last night. At least partly. PMS is like an emotional magnifier. And maybe a bit of a distorter too.
Heh... "a bit."
I had the pleasure of working at the wound center today. It's day three of at least seven. I haven't decided if I can manage the Tuesday and Thursday my boss asked I do. I'll see how much gets done on the weekend and decide. The decrease in smelly and cranky patients helps make Monday, Wednesday, Friday more bearable, so an extra couple days of no patients might not be so bad. And extra money is always good. The downside, as always, is driving all the way in, parking, and using productive time the house could really use instead. Realistically, the third reason isn't always true though, because everyone knows how productive I am when I stay home. My naked family in particular knows. Weekend productivity will decide it.
I'm rather thankful I worked today. It got me out and the day turned out to be gorgeous. I came home and did weights already. Now I just have to get on the treadmill, which is less easy with Hammy's two friends over, but I'll do it anyway. I am not going to skip another workout this week after missing two already.
Later, I'm taking the kids to their grandma's and taking grandma with me to see John's band. All grandkids will be there together and the two older ones, one of which is Hammy, will be able to watch the rest. I'm less than thrilled about an evening of claustrophobic, smokey, way-loud music. I don't even care much for drinking at all anymore, which either means I'm more health conscious or just more prudish. I've never been much for seeing bands, preferring an evening more suited to conversation than ringing ears. The band still represents too many negatives for me too. I go for John--yet another unanswered sacrifice.
Then there's the MIL situation. She has a tendency to drink a bit to much, especially with FIL is around, which he will be. She repeats how "over him" she is so many times that I know she's trying to convince herself more than anyone else. I totally agree he's a mixed-up, selfish bonehead, but I'm very tired of hearing about it. And hearing about it. And getting poked every time I hear about it. And hearing about it again. But I'm my nice, dutiful self, shaking my head and trying to convince her she's better off without him, because I know she really does want him back. Sometimes I think dealing with my parents' radical religious views is easier. Until I actually deal with them, of course.
I think yet another pen running out of ink was my sign to get on the treadmill. It will be time to leave all too soon, and I must work out.
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One Year Ago Today:
