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 |  Breaking the laws of blogging, one entry at a time. |
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Wanted: For repeated blog faux pas, including, but not limited to: Obsessive ranting - guilty on 92 counts. Repeatedly beating a dead horse - guilty on 17 counts. Unnecessary use of curse words - guilty on 142 counts. Boring daily recounts - guilty on 45 counts. Pointless entries - guilty on 214 counts. Contradictory statements - guilty on 72 counts. Recounting toilet actions - guilty on 15 counts. Overdramatization of insignificant things - guilty on 152 counts. Overreacting to meaningless gestures - guilty on 22 counts. Unnecessary temper tantrums - guilty on 75 counts. Cruelty towards animals, superiors, peers, and inferiors - guilty on 146 counts. Repeated bad grammar, spelling, and opinionations - guilty on 214 counts. Suspect is considered armed and dangerous. Do not confront directly, instead call the authorities and slowly back away. Do not provoke suspect, as she is easy to agitate. The best action to take is to smile and nod. Any other response could lead suspect to rant and rave for days without ceasing. REWARD OFFERED FOR CAPTURE Dead or alive. Offending evidence: ![Merit Badge in Journaling
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Given for penning the favorite response entry in the Follow the Leader contest with "Come Again?"](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/type-Journaling-2180.gif) (Exhibit A) ![Merit Badge in Variety
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Because I never knew what to expect from your Follow the Leader entries, but I'm oh so glad you played!](https://images.Writing.Com/imgs/writing.com/writers/badges/general-Variety-2500.gif) (Exhibit B) (Exhibit C) ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
Leading prompt: "News with a Twist..."  I live for no news is good news. Today isn't one of those days, but I've pretty much already written about it. The only other news that I could possibly share is that I'm pretty sure I'm going to fail my family. Kalamazoo's job market sucks. Even the temp services are pretty much dried up. Well, not pretty much. They are dried up. And so is our savings. Why couldn't I have married a man who lived some place where the economy is going somewhere? Why couldn't I have married a man who is OK with moving a few hours away from his family in order to find a better job market? |
| Leading prompt: "Invalid Entry" I'm not one for politics. I'm not one for throwing blame at one political party or another. I know of Republicans and Democrats that are pedophiles. I know Conservatives and Liberals who have molested a child or two. Hell, I was engaged to a 26-year old man who cheated on me with his 16-year old employee. He wouldn't even vote, so what does that make him, politically? A member of some non-voting party? Some people might call me a liberal. Others call liberals dirty hippies. But at least I'm never going to be called a pedophile. |
| I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I don't plan well. At least not in the blog entry aspect. I'm one of those people who work better under the gun than without a lot of notice. That's probably why I procrastinate so much. Otherwise, I have too much time and overthink something that should be simple. I've kicked around several ideas for the past week or so. I still haven't decided which, of those ideas, I want to do. Maybe I should do them all. One extreme or another. That's me. All or nothing. That's me. Questions Back when J and I had a lot of parties, which wasn't very long ago or for a very long time, we'd end up having all of these people in our house that we didn't know. Most of these parties were during the bitter winter, so it would equate to us, people we knew, and people we didn't know, sitting around the house drinking, watching TV, and talking about... whatever. Most of the time, we didn't know what to talk about. After a few awkward moments, I got tired of it, so I bought some books. Question books. Books that put you in strange situations and ask what you would do. Questions like:  If you could have had one thing that one of your friends has, what would you pick, and from whom? Every time you have sex with someone you will reduce three months from his/her life span. How would you live?They were meant to be ice breakers. One time, though, it caused an argument. After that, we stopped having parties. We were too old to spend $100 a week on alcohol and potato chips, anyway. Babies Dawn went into labor a few days ago. She's 31 weeks along, so over a month early. Her doctor stopped the labor, giving her pills and terbutiline (misspelled, I'm sure). She ended up having back labor all week. Finally, her doctors have given the go ahead. She went in to get a cesarean at 8 this morning, since the baby's breech (misspelled again, I'm sure). Sometime today, I plan to go up to the hospital and take photos of Momma, Daddy, and baby, for the baby shower, being held on Sunday. That's my excuse, anyway. Mostly, I just want to find out what Dawn's decided to name her little girl. I'm nosey like that, and it killed me to have to wait this long to find out. Getting back to Dawn, though; I feel for her. I went through back labor, if only for a few hours. Anyone who has had back labor knows that a few hours is long enough to want to beg for drugs to make the pain go away. A few hours is long enough to know you wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone, not even your worst enemy. She is supposed to be 32 weeks tomorrow, but they took her, I'm sure, because the back labor was making it really tough on her. Four days of back labor. That's four days of feeling like your back is going to snap at your tailbone, or somewhere near there. Four days of not being able to find a comfortable position, no mattter if you're lying down, sitting up, or standing up. I can't believe she made it that long. Oh, well. It's all over for her, now. At 8 am, she delivered her little girl. Now I'm just waiting for a call from someone, anyone, to tell me that everything's OK. And back to me, I'm happy for Dawn. I'm a little sad, too, because part of me still feels like I should be about 4 months pregnant by now. I'm working on trying to let that feeling go because I know that someone else having a baby isn't going to make my chances of getting pregnant again slimmer. I was going to write more, but I hate being incredibly long winded in my blog. That, and Ethan is trying to get me to read to him, and I can't with a laptop in front of my face. |
| Life is shifting back to an almost-normal routine again, thankfully. I went to the doctor. He agreed that my hormones are all out of whack. And since J and I are trying to get pregnant, he had to figure out how to fix me without putting me on birth control. So, I get lots of supplements for a while. calcium magnesium citrate folic acid daily multivitamin super b complex vitamin b6 chaste berry extract vitamin e My dresser looks like a vitamin pharmacy. But hopefully this will straighten me out. I'm tired of getting so dog sick every month that I have to stop living for 3 days while I lay in bed and wait to feel better. I'll get caught up with FtL sometime. My leading entry is tomorrow, so I have to decide what I'm going to do for that. |
| My hormones are all out of whack. No cramps to speak of really, but Aunt Flo is making me barf. I called my doctor. I'm going to insist he tests my hormone levels. My menstrual should not make me sick like this. I don't care who has ever had them like this, I'm not going to put up with it. Screw putting up with being sick. I pay my doctors to make me healthy when I'm ill. |
| I posted some pictures in my LJ albums. http://melissa-w.livejournal.com/ |
Read: Fox. Socks. Box. Knox. Rinse. Repeat. Over again. "Momma, socks." I smile. Doctor Suess, a friend. Doctor Suess, I say thank-you. Doctor Suess, I sigh. Read: Fox. Socks. Box. Knox. "Can't we read about the fish?" "Momma, socks." I sigh. Doctor Suess, I cry. Doctor Suess, I can't stand you. Doctor Suess, no more. Read: Fox. Socks. Box. Knox. "What do you want to wear, son?" "Momma, socks." I grin. Doctor Suess, you rock. Doctor Suess, he knows socks well. Doctor Suess, you're loved. I really suck at Haiku, but... well I don't do knock-knock jokes. Not funny ones, anyway.  |
| Leading entry: "Invalid Entry" A lot of people wear rose-colored glasses when it comes to Writing.Com. Not in a this-site-sucks-and-people-get-shafted sort of way. I wouldn't be a Moderator or even a member of this site if I thought that Writing.Com was a bad place to hang out. I definitely have better ways to spend $135 a year in leiu of a Premium membership. But I love my friends here, and I love reading and sharing pieces of myself with this community. The rose coloring tends to be in other members' interaction with each other. We come on this site, we're friendly with each other, we play nice. In reality, though, we are all a little selfish, a little self absorbed, a little in need of reassurance, and a little different than the mask that we wear for the general community. This isn't saying that those who are nice and play nicey-nice aren't really nice people in real life. I consider myself to be a lot nicer and a lot more fun in person than I tend to be on Writing.Com. Something about a lack of personality conveyed through my typed words makes me seem like a raging bitch online, when in person I'm not quite raging. I can be a bitch, just with a little bit more tact than I seem to be able to possess with a keyboard as my vehicle of communication. We all go through periods where we're fickle and periods where we're all-in. If we didn't, we wouldn't be writers. Actually, I don't consider myself a writer. I'm just moody and get along well with other writers. Probably because writers are moody. At least all of the ones I know are. I, myself, am fickle right now. I receive reviews, sure, but I have to be in a certain mood right now to actually review in kind. Most usually, I repay reviews with Gift Points, because most of the time I don't feel like reading and especially reviewing. In a few weeks, or maybe a few days, that may all change and then I'll be back on the most credited reviewers list. But my problem is that I'm an extremist. I'm never on the fence. I'm always as far from the fence as I can get, on one side or another. And I think, without trying to make a generalization, that that is most of our problems. We're not fence-sitters. We're extremists who either go all-in with everything we have, or stay as far away from it as we can. Written for "Invalid Item" . |
| I have PMS. I'm pretty sure that's what it is. It's making me murderous. That is all. |
| "Goosing my Muse" I'm not a writer or an artist, so I don't have a muse. What I have is internal inspiration. Sometimes external. I look at something or read something and use that to inspire my own thoughts and ideas. Most of the time, though, I find my own inspiration when I'm thinking in the shower or dropping a duece. Every once in a while, though, I have an epiphany for no reason whatsoever, in the strangest of places. Not that the toilet isn't a strange place, but I'm talking about in the middle of reading The Little Engine That Could or putting socks on Ethan. It only happens once in a great while, but I wouldn't say I was striken by my muse. Artists have muses. I'm not an artist. I'm just an ordinary person who likes to put things to paper in ordinary ways. I don't try to be extraordinary in this avenue of my life. If I tried to be Type A everywhere, I wouldn't have an escape from myself. Written for "Invalid Item" . |
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Whatever you do, hang in there, he'll be sleeping like a big boy in no time!