I'm working on it.

The dearest husband has taken the dearest children out to pick up diapers and bread, the staple items of our daily lives, and to let the small ones wear off their afternoon naps at the indoor play area near our favorite Target.  It's a gift today, though normally, after a day in-house with the ittys, I am more than happy to head out in the evenings for errands.  Right now, though, I am just extra thankful for the moments of still and the dimness of this room.

My head is a wreck.  There are multiple ways to take that, but in this case it's mostly just a two-fold meaning.  My head is a wreck of pain and twitching, the latter being a new symptom that goes along with the monster aches that seem to come more and more frequently these days.  My head is a wreck of lists - the kind of lists that organize what needs to be done and what's coming next, the kind of lists that are usually in order and neat, the kind of lists that have somehow become a monster ache of their own, growing longer and longer with less completion.  Neither of the wrecks does anything to lessen the other.  (At what point in life is it appropriate to hire a personal assistant?)

And it's spring.  My favorite time of year.  Everything here is blooming and beautiful.  The ocean even seems new.  I only want to be out, seeing, breathing, loving, enjoying the time and the new light that spins golden shadows later and later and later into the evening hours.

The physical ache is stifling that.  It's having an effect.  Affecting life and living, forcing hours spent in a dark room with cold compresses and mounds of ibuprofen (thirty-two-hundred-milligrams a day, plus the in-between spots filled with Tylenol is a. lot. of. Motrin) that only dull the pounding.  Now with the added twitching, I'm not sure what to think.  Maybe time to stop self-dosing and see a professional M.D.

I hate going though, because they always have to stick you with something.

Pressing on.

3.75
$3 and 75¢.
That is what I paid for the beer I had last night at dinner.
In contrast, my husband paid $4 for his.
His TWO.
That came in a can.
A can that held 4 more ounces (each) than my bottle.
Did I add that my beer was a Miller Lite?
Yes. A Miller. Lite.
And his?
His was a PBR.
I should say, his were PBR-s.
Plural.
...

Ahhhh!! But don't be deceived! I got waaaaay more for my money than did he.
Because my beer,
my three-dollar-and-seventy-five-cent-plus-alcohol-tax-bottle of Miller Lite (yeah, that's right),
mine came with a big ol' mouthful of rust.

RUST.

At least, that's what the manager told me it was when he came over to apologize for the before-then-unknown substance that was all over my tongue and lips after I took my first, before-that-second, happy swallow.

He said he was sorry about the rust, but you know, it's just one of those things that happens with their old cooler if they forget to rotate it ... something about condensation ...

And then we opened our napkins to see two sets of dirty silverware. This after our server introduced herself and explained how just a day or so ago, she'd been throwing up with the stomach virus ...

REALLY? I mean, REALLY?

I joined a gym. Yay me!

To celebrate, I'm baking peanut butter cookies.

Yay peanut butter!

*** Peanut butter is high in protein, vitamins B3 and E, magnesium, folate, dietary fibre, arginine, ergo it's good for me, ergo, it's healthy. Yay me!

Yay Cookies!