I mean seriously.
although, i don't know which is worse...
having the husband here, or not.
he was NOT helpful this week.
and i'm mad at him for that.
he did nothing to relieve my burden of caring for two sick kids while trying to get well myself.
i won't bore you with the details.
and not because i care about your entertainment welfare--but because i can't remember them.
now that i have that off my chest i can get on with it.
i'm feeling particularly un-witty
i hate it when i sit down to write and all i can think is gray.
gray sights, gray sounds, gray smells....
fuck it all!!
just fuck it.
where the fuck is my muse??
probably scuttling around in the walls with my mouse.
or out having a drink with my girlfriends.
or crawling under my husband's desk to blow him.
or curled up in MY bed watching my favorite movie.
or taking a bubble bath, listening to opera, touching herself...
sweet baby sleeping in my lap while i type.
his skin so smooth and perfect.
his fingers delicate and tiny,
while his brother's hands are big, boyish.
his little ears so soft and sweet.
his breathing still ragged
his perfect little nose still stuffy...
his lashes long against his cheek.
my little bear cub.