This week is dragging its lazy butt yet somehow…it’s Thursday already. And holy shit, I have not posted since Sunday. It’s not for a lack of things to say, believe me. But every single time I’ve gone to write a post, my fingers freeze over the keyboard. Then, inevitably, I log off. Why bother? If I can’t say what I want and need to say, then why say anything at all.
All week long. It’s been terrible.
I have this lump in my throat all the time and a fist in the pit of my stomach. I know why they are there. And I know why they have to remain there. Words unspoken. Perhaps another time, another place, I can let go and purge myself of these posts that are writing themselves within me all the time.
So, I was supposed to get this radioactive iodine treatment tomorrow. To reverse my hyperactive thyroid. And the doctor fucked up! I went this morning to get my blood taken. Because, before you get this procedure, you have to have a blood pregnancy test. They won’t take my word for it that it is virtually impossible that I’m pregnant. Apparently, they need my blood as proof. Assholes. And I HATE getting my blood taken. Like a big girl, I went and got it done. I didn’t even ask for a Snoopy band-aid and a lollipop.
Then I find out that I’m not on the schedule for tomorrow? What. The. Fuck??? I’ve been stressing and freaking out for over a month. WHY????
Now I have to wait a few more weeks in order to get this done. So in the meantime, I’m gaining weight, I’m 24/7 PMS, and I’m achey. All the flipping time. And I’m ready to used my freshly painted fingernails to rip someone…anyones…eyes from their sockets.
With the way my luck has been going with this particular doctor, I’m probably going to find out that somehow, despite protection…I’m pregnant. THAT WOULD SUCK. BIG, HUGE donkey balls.
The thing I was looking most forward to tomorrow. Not the radioactive stuff. It was staying the night in a hotel. By myself. With my laptop and my Atlas Shrugged. Being left alone. No whining. No crying. No complaining. For 24 hours.
OH…I need a momcation. I’ll even take a parentcation with my hubby. I just cuddle with the thought of escaping my children for a week or a few days. I butterfly and eskimo kiss pictures of vacation getaways. I. Need. It. Bad.
Then I think about this. I get to my destination. I don’t know about you but for me, it takes a couple days to get into the swing of things, ie, not being anything remotely like a mom, when my kids aren’t around. And by the time I get used to it and really start relaxing…it’s time to go home and clean the mess that the kids made while I was gone. So really, I’ve made it this long without a parentcation, I think I can make it another 12 years until the last kid is grown and out of the house. Because…only then, will I truly be able to go and enjoy what will really be…a VACATION. Although, I wouldn’t kick a 4 day cruise with my husband in the groin.
Oh yeah! I forgot to mention that I won a full pass to Gleek Retreat!! I’m going to Holland, Michigan overnight next weekend for, what sounds like, a fun and informative little blogging conference!! So excited. I guess that is kind of like a mini-momcation, no? Sorta. Except, minus Sven the Pool Boy fanning me and bringing me fruity frou-frou drinks. And I really like Sven the Pool Boy. But I’m very happy to spend 24 hours with some of my blog friends and to meet some new ones!!
One last thing. And this has absolutely NOTHING to do with anything I just wrote about…
Woman of little ho-bag that goes to middle school with my kids,
I saw you at the store, buying teeny, tiny skirts for your daughter. That I’m sure, without a doubt, she will pair with super spike fuck-me-pumps (in 8th grade).
I just want to say one thing to you…
Don’t be shocked when she turns up pregnant. Because, according to all the kids, her clothes match her actions.
Shame on you,
These women. You know what they say about taking the woman out of the trailer. Too bad they have to take their daughters down with them. * Shakes head shamefully*
Now I have to go check my calendar. So that I may find a different date to become radioactive. And hopefully, the doctor won’t screw this one up too. Poor guy.
And that…is all. For now.