If there were such a thing, I would selflessly dontate my uterus to a person in need. A uterine donor program.

Right now, though, I'd rather bitch a lot. Because that's one thing I'm good at.

I'm cramping up so badly right now that the vicodin isn't cutting through it. Wah wah wah.

I did make raspberry ice though. I downed half of it.

There's something so demeaning or shameful about turning in an application somewhere. I don't know what it is. It's probably because it's the type of job where you don't send in your resume. I know that's stupid. It probably just boils down to not feeling good enough.

Where did I turn this in? To Starbucks. Oh yes. They're the only place that's open at 5am. No wait, 4am. The one in Kenmore anyway. But spousal and I thought about it and mornings would be best. His clients shops don't open until 11am or so.

There's a difference between wanting to do something and feeling like I should do something. I'm sure everyone else has brains enough to realize this, but I just realized this today, driving home with the Christmas/Yule Tree by my side. Lying there like a dead body. Every year I say I want to make Christmas cookies and pass them out to friends. I want to. Actually I feel I need to. Which means I don't really want to do it. If I did, then I'd do it, right? So just realize then, Bettyalready, that you're not the type of person who does that Christmas treats things. I'm not Betty Freakin' Crocker. I'm already Bettyalready.

I'm fucked in the head is what I think is goin on here.

I'm going now. Off to Rite-aid.

later dudes.

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