It’s been a while for those of you who choose to keep up with me blog-only.
For you poor souls who brave the Facebooker in me and, God forbid, the tweeter, you’ve had quite enough and don’t really give a shit if I show up in your RSS reader ever again. Yes, yes, I know.
The Zoloft cold turkey thing: this is why we have doctors, but in my house, we don’t do doctors unless something has been cut off that cannot be sewn back on or cauterized in the kitchen. Take my kid away from me in the emergency room once, Children’s Protective Services, and you’ll not get another chance. That’s my motto.
Anyway, the Zoloft cold turkey thing: touch and go for a while there. My poor husband. He thought separate residences could save him, but there is really no one that escapes me when I am crazy enough. A few weeks later, things are better. I have more energy [hey there, completed spring cleaning project! Hey there, saving my job!] and I am throwing a parade next week celebrating the return of my lifelong insomnia [hey there, Netflix resubscription department!]
My daily photo project is winding down. I still haven’t missed a day, but I am no longer obsessed enough to tell you if today is Day 106 or Day, um, hmmm, 121, maybe? I take a quick pic with my iPhone and I’m done with it. No pressure, less stress. Yeah, yeah, I forgot to take pictures of Jon Alex opening his Big Birthday Box of Star Wars Loot from Q when I got off work yesterday. Some things will fall through the cracks, and I’ll make up for it. I think that’s my new tag line.
42 minutes.
