I do not see how women manage this every day without going bugshit. I already would like to throw myself off the roof and it has only been two weeks. Mind you, when I go back to work it will be more of the same but at least my only company will not be a farting baby and a dog who steals bread when no one is looking.

And he has invited people over for Saturday. His friends. A couple of whom I am quite ambivalent about, and all of them? Have children. It is winter time, and I will have seven children here between the ages of six and thirteen. Plus the baby.

I am only just now sitting here realizing that I am, in fact, crazy, and did not think this through. I am also hoping that typing it out will guarantee it will turn out just fine in the end, as it so often does. The more I work myself up about something the more it seems I am borrowing great gobs of drama, because things usually end up okay!

I hate trying to sound sll evenhanded, though. Sometimes, I want to throw a giant hissy fit and shriek "PITY ME! LOVE ME! TELL ME HOW RIGHT I AM ABOUT ALL THINGS! ENABLE MY DRAMA AND BE MY CODEPENDENT ADVICE WHORES!" but then I remember that I think those people are usually assholes who routinely make mountains out of molehills and expect everyone on the world to help them over their own personal Kilimanjaro.

So, uh, see that mountain over there? Someday I'm gonna climb that mountain. You all can just watch. And you know, maybe point and mock when you see me realize it's one of them thar molehills. Again.

I think the metaphor got lost there somewhere. But it's okay. Got dishes to wash and a baby to feed. Literary greatness will have to wait.