...Is a current fact of Mizz McCrumpleface's existence that gives me pause when I consider the implications. Not the least of my worries is the fact that Jesse curses so poorly. For a little gang-banger, he sure does sound like an awkward tween grasping for attention every time he adds the word "bitch" superfluously to the end of a sentence. I want my daughter to know how to curse appropriately, dammit. And of course I'd rather she grew up to do something other than manufacture methamphetamine, but I wouldn't want to squelch her dreams when she's less than six weeks old, I suppose. I wouldn't blame her for getting bored with her current job, which is pretty much limited to laying around and being cute, acting as a conduit for various body fluids, and waiting for all the wires to hook themselves up in her brain and body. Emphasis on the "cute," as you can see.
I have been feeling mostly good, with day or two-long blips here and there. I had a somewhat stressful family visit in the middle of some sleepless nights, which made me more-than-average bitchy about the things I dislike about certain family members of mine. My aunt was in true form, representing the television-addicted, chain restaurant-preferring, Fox News-watching demographic. Even though she was being perfectly respectful, it was driving me a little unreasonably nuts. Andor and I were fighting a little too. Once all that stuff leveled out and we got some sleep and sex, things improved dramatically. I have been daydreaming rather nonstop about metalworking, and when I'm not doing that, I just watch this fine TV show on Netflix. I am glad for the little bit of stimulation.
I have a date tomorrow to begin my little apprenticeship with Mug Monsters. Will report later.
