Le boq boq boq.

Tiny berets for everyone!

Huh, so this morning I was up at 5:30 with insomnia. And yesterday I was telling my analyst how afraid I was of fucking things up, and how he would then smack me down for it.

There's some weird convergence going on.

Let's make a deal: if you share my brain, you can only bring the funny and the cool, and *I* will bring my astonishing knowledge of the semi-colon. No dysfunction. We got enough.

My morning, let me show you it:

A) Alarm did not go off. Woke up at 10 after 7 when Emeline came up stairs to tell us that the Little Einsteins were here and homeless and could they please live with us.

B) I'm in the shower while Emeline was slyly replaced with a cranky velociraptor by some jokester. I can hear her screaming because she can not wear the swing top without leggings. Poor Joe.

C) I get out of the shower and take away all of Em's dress up dresses, her toys, and take away her tv priveleges for tonight.

D) Since Em has missed the bus and I'm supposed to be at work by 8, we all shoot out of the house quickly. I take off in the minivan, Joe and Em in the station wagon.

E) Not even 1 mile from our house, I whip past a cop, not paying attention to my speed.

F) He pulls me over. 46 in a 25. Insurance isn't in the car.

G) I receive my first ticket in almost 10 years. Luckily, it's a warning on the speed (no charge) and a fix-it on the insurance.

H) My back is out.

I am exhausted already and it's not even 10am.

I am exhausted already and it's not even 10am.

But at least you weren't up at 4:30

True enough. My sympathies to all of you who were up at 4:30. Srsly.

t will no longer skim.

In light of recent discussion, this is funny:

I'm a working mom with little kids. Is there any volunteer work I can do between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m.?

Well, at least it's funny in my head....

I got up at 5:45 so I could go out for breakfast before work. But the coffee was so weak I'm gonna go out to get more.

What a crappy morning, Aimee. I hope the rest of your day shapes up and gets better.

I'm literally not used to not being smacked down when I fuck up. I'm still braced for the blow. How fucking sad of a commentary on my life (mostly childhood) is THAT?

After three years, I still cringe when Daniel yells. Mind you, it's not a matter of him yelling at me. He rarely does that, other than to facilitate long-range communication. It's just yelling at stuff, and considerably less yelling at stuff than I seem to do. But because of personal history... yeah... cringing. But hey, it's down from cringing plus heart-racing panic. So that's a plus.

Teppy, I'm glad you are with The Boy, who does not give you shit for spilling stuff.

But hey, it's down from cringing plus heart-racing panic.

{{{{{Andi}}}}}

Well, I have a mixed bag, so I tend to yell at myself and not as much at loved ones. I guess my dysfunction is dysfunctional.

I also rage against the universe from time to time.

We've secretly replaced the Bitches' Wednesday morning with Monday Morning Crystals. Let's see if anyone notices.

I got a doctor's appointment for the irritating skin tag under my bra. At least I got in today at 2:30. Going to make the afternoon a little crazy but that's ok.

I also rage against the universe from time to time.

And that makes you different from the rest of us around here, how?

We're all fucked up in our own ways. The best part is that we're around to help each other cope.

We're like the Island of Misfit Toys or something.