Asking what she wants for dinner? I don't see what is angry-making in that.

It's complicated and passive aggressive.

Huh. Sounds like when she gets mad, what it's about isn't what it's about, which is pretty standard. Does she have a good circle of adult friends to talk to? Did she work before she had the kidlets?

Yay for Calli's bits!

Why not - she'd love it. Mind, I expect everybody to load up on makeup and everybody else to buy clothes too. There might need to be some eating and drinking involved as well.

Hec is a cruel, cruel man, but I'm sure we'd suffer through. Nobly.

must see j. in person soon

Yes! Must meet erika! (Hec flatters, BTW. We love him anyway.)

Oh, Gud. I'm so sorry, sweetie. Hugs. You've got some good adive up there, and a whole lot of love.

Asking what she wants for dinner? I don't see what is angry-making in that.

I don't either, but it totally rings a bell as one of those totally-non-important things that somehow becomes a big deal when there's a lot of unrelated resentment coming from somewhere. I think dinner is not the issue.

I don't either, but it totally rings a bell as one of those totally-non-important things that somehow becomes a big deal when there's a lot of unrelated resentment coming from somewhere.

Rings mine, too, because that's how both Paul and I are. Usually, we're able to break through the surface reason to articulate the underlying issue, which is good.

{{{Gud}}}

Glad to hear the girlie bits are OK, Calli.

That is such a sweet offer, and I may take you up on it. You're planning on being at the dinner for Abi week after next, yes?

I just can't stand to see you suffer. :) AFAIK, yes. Have we firmed up a time and place yet?

t /clueless

{{{Gud}}} I don't have anything to add to all the advice/questions people have already posted, but I hope things improve for you soon.

To be all mememe, can someone convince me that life isn't quite as crappy as it feels right now? I know a lot of this is just back pain and heat talking, but I'm convinced I'll never get a job interview and never sell a novel, that my back will hurt me till the day I die of whatever the megadoses of ibuprofen are doing to my kidneys and/or liver, and, what's more, that I'll always be fat, frumpy, and ugly, with stupid hair.

This isn't panic-angst, BTW, just a sort of bone-deep weariness over being in pain, and rushing to the phone every time it rings only to find the local calls are DH calling to say hi and the long distance ones are people who want me to donate to something, and seeing someone on a writing list squee over finaling in a contest I'm entered in, which tells me I struck out yet again, and if I can't even final in these contests in which a good chunk of the entrants don't know how to write smooth, grammatical prose, who am I to think an editor or agent will like me, etc.

I'm just grumpy and discouraged is all. And I do have stupid hair at the moment.

Some Bitches may be interested in my latest blog post, which deals with a possible therapy for MS and other autoimmune disorders.

Susan, the only solution is clearly to get a haircut. And a pedicure.

And no, I'm not kidding. It helps with the bone-deep blahs in the short term.

I thought we loved Hec FOR the flattery, and of course the spicy brains, and stuff, J. And for his fabulous musical generosity, hint, hint. Well, if I was already feeling put-out, and somebody asked me one. more. dumb. thing, I might feel like " Do you want me to chew it for you, too?" But I'm not nice.