Our holiday passed sweetly but really unremarkable.  We didn't have a huge family event or anything this year.  I just wasn't up to organizing it.  We stayed home, barbequed here, and finished off the evening with milkshakes and fireworks.  Our house is located almost directly in the center of town so we can see the fireworks display just by walking down to the end of our street.

I'll just say that while I've made fun of my husband all week for making me sit through at least a dozen history documentaries and movies, I've learned so much I didn't know.  I realize my country isn't where it wants to be right now.  We could name a million things we're doing wrong and even more that we've done wrong in the past.  But, for the privileges and freedoms it does provide me, I'm thankful.  When this country was born, those forefathers' hearts were in the right place.  They made sacrifices and faced struggles we will never understand for rights they knew they would never experience.  They did it because they wanted us to live freely.  And even with all our current restraints, we really do live better because of them.

*fade John Denver*

I'm surprisingly awake considering how early it is on a Saturday morning after having gotten absolutely no sleep whatsoever last night.  Not to mention, I'm only on my first cup of coffee.  It's a dark rainy morning, and I'd rather be cuddled up in bed, but I live in the real world.  Maybe I'll get to nap later.

For now, I just want enough energy to get up and get some things accomplished.  The only reason I'm up this early is because Screw has to work today.  It's only until this afternoon, though, so maybe we'll both take a nap once he gets home.  That is, if I can find enough rope to tie up all the kids between now and then.

One thing I want to definitely get to today is actually opening the box that has my new sewing machine inside.  I've only had the damn thing for about three weeks now.  I don't know how to sew, but I want to learn.  My husband, who indulges me far too much apparently, was all smiles when I asked him if we could buy one.  I didn't go for a fancy, do everything for you but pee, model.  I just wanted a basic machine easy enough to understand and yet not so simple that if I really do like sewing, I'll have to go out and buy a better one within the first month.

I was talking with a friend of mine a few days ago, and when I told him about it he said, "I just can't see you as the domesticated type.".  I wasn't sure whether to be thrilled or offended.  Did that mean he didn't see me as a dried up housemaid of some sort, or that he saw me as a frivilous priss not willing to get her hands dirty?  Then he explained that it's still really hard for him to get the career me out of his head after all these years.  Back then, I managed to keep my house somewhat tidy and the laundry done, but time for sewing?  Yeah, right.  Still, "... the domesticated type..." makes me feel like I'm a cat or something.

Martha Stewart, I'm not, and don't want to be.  I'm just not a status quo kind of person.  I like to change things up often.  I have probably twenty windows in my house that over five feet tall.  It would be so cool to be able to make the curtains everytime I decide I want a different color or fabric instead of spending half a college tuition on buying new ones.  I might not be bringing home a paycheck anymore, but I want to contribute when and wherever I can.

I'll let you know how it goes.  I'm sure you're anxiously waiting to hear every last detail.

Ladies, do not believe that crap about those razorblades that supposedly have the cream and moisturizer right there on the blade.  I'm telling you this as a public service.  How do I have the nerve to boldly stand up against these claims?  Because bitching about it takes my mind off the pain. 

I didn't take the time to shave my legs yesterday morning.  I have to shave every single day.  I can't stand to have my legs touch in bed at night and feel stubble.  It drives me bat-shit.  Yesterday I had other things on my mind.  So last night before bed, I grabbed this supposedly really awesome new razor blade, stuck my foot into the sink in the bathroom, wet my leg, and shaved it.  Repeated those steps with leg number two.  Now I have razor burn on both freaking legs, and it's killing me.  It's like I dry shaved with a rusty razor!  The thing is, it felt like it was shaving smoothly last night!  It felt like there actually was something on my legs!  If not, I would have stopped!  False advertisement on women's products sucks ass.  Like I didn't have enough body parts in pain, already.

However, taking positive from a negative, it's put me in just the right mood to wake everybody up and kick their asses around the house until they do their chores. 

You do realize I'm rambing about this useless stuff because to think about anything important would surely bring me to my knees, and not in a good way, right?  I can't think anymore.  I can't worry and wonder.  I can't deal. 

I want to curl up in a little ball somewhere in the dark and put Joni Mitchell on repeat.  Why is that asking so much?

I want to record the last couple weeks of my life.  Mostly because once everything is ok again, I'm never going to believe I survive this shit on a daily basis.  Now, obviously aside from having a loved one die or some life shattering ordeal, this is the worst phase...

Let's start off with spraining my foot when I got mad and kicked the dehumidifier across the basement. 

Next the third degree burn across my right hand.  A new iron that gets incredibly hot slipped right outta my hand and right across the top of it before I even knew what was happening. 

My husband wrecks his car, manages to hit the biggest idiot in the neighborhood.  Okay, not the biggest but a close second at the very least. 

The bigget one is the woman I had to threaten standing in my driveway the same evening he wrecked because I'm tired of her bully of a kid picking on mine who happens to be four years younger and half her kid's size. 

I'm trying to take care of my mother who has severe bronchitis and major kidney stones. 

The overwhelming responsibility of it all is making me fall way short on everything.  Right now my house looks like a Sunday morning after a frat party. 

My husband thought he'd be nice and buy me new knives because I was complaining about not having good ones.  Immediately upon picking one up for the very first time yesterday, I dropped the damned thing and proceeded to slice the top of my thumb all the way down into the nail bed... right to the bone.  This is my left hand, btw.  So now both hands are bandaged.  (Thank God I still have my typing fingers, right.) 

Today I will be walking around with gauze patches on both my hands and both my hips trying to deal with my own pain while trying to meet with my mother's Urologist to make sure he isn't a quack because some fuckwit told her that he's a quack and now she doesn't trust him.  So I have to meet her and play be big bad bitchy daughter and question him to make sure he's ok.

Oh, last and probably least, I guess, considering the rest of this crap... I lost my own pretty pink slippers.  Can't find one of them anywhere.  So Screw lets me wear a pair of his around the house.  His are only about twelve sizes too big for me, not to mention he doesn't wear normal ones.  The ones he lets me wear are shaped like big mallard ducks.  So I get up this morning with nothing on my mind but how good the coffee is going to taste, slip my feet into his ducks, and walk all the way to the kitchen before I realize that one of them has cat piss in it.

I have things to be thankful for, though.  Honest.  And if you'd buy me a bottle of patron, I could come with all sorts of them.