This Sucks...

***Warning: the F-bomb will probably be liberally used in this post. If this offends you, I am sorry.***

You know, I fucked around WAAAY too much in college. I was away from family and friends I felt comfortable with, and I fucked around and screwed up the entire rest of my life. I'm miserable.

I should clarify. I'm miserable with my job. I'm partially thankful that I do still have a job. Hear me out:

We're all required to take ten days of furlough (unpaid vacation) by the end of October. Great. Fine. Wonderful.

I've been off all this week, fully intending to get some stuff done around this house. I've done none of it. Spare room still looks like we let a pack of hyperactive racoons in and shut the door. Nothing has been moved around or gone through or even looked at since I got back from Camp on Sunday (note: we spent the whole weekend at Camp Ondessonk, and God help me, I miss Southern Illinois). I had a Pampered Chef show on Wednesday evening, and we went out for our 4th anniversary on Thursday night (I love you, Mr. Realist. More than you know).

I'm going to backtrack just a smidge. I've been on high blood pressure medication for about the last six years or so. I'm a bit (yeah...shut up... a LOT) chunky around the midsection, and I'm quite sedentary (triple word score) if I don't have anything better (than playing on Facebook or reading or writing - which I'm not doing much of, or going through Pampered Chef stuff) to do. I'm on some serious drugs for it so that I don't have a stroke (which she was quite worried about). I don't like to work out alone. I could walk, but then I have Mr. Realist at home going 'when's dinner?' or 'thought we were going to do X?'
It seems like I have a hint of the insomnia. I don't go to sleep before midnight, so getting up at the God-awful hour of 5am to walk or run or any other thing that would be good for me, is an unhealthy option (I'm a dragonbitch when I don't get enough sleep). It seems like I have way too much to do of an evening (you're welcome, Jen) that I can't get it in then. Doesn't help that even before I was overly plump, I sweat like a horse that just ran the Derby, so lunch hour workouts is a negative.

Anyway, I told you that to tell you this: I take my meds once (should be twice) a day for my HBP (no, not Half-Blood Prince - High Blood Pressure). Since Saturday (when I started this week's furlough), I have taken them a grand total of three times. I haven't had chest pain or pressure, my pulse has been pretty steady, and I haven't had a headache at all. What the fuck does that tell you about my job? Obviously that it's harmful to my health!

Maybe when things work out on our end in the next three months or so, I'll go up, take the test to be a substitute teacher, and quit my uber-stressful job. Mr. Realist is just going to have to look and see how much it's going to cost to put me on his insurance, because it'll definitely be cheaper than to get it ourselves.

Any other ideas?

Mrs. Dreamer

PS - Soon's as I get the pics downloaded from Camp, I'll post them on FB and here so you can get a look at them.
~MD

The Time Traveler's Wife

No, not the movie. The book. I'd prefer to read first, watch later. I just picked the book up last Friday, and am now finished. Spent the last 20 minutes finishing it up, and I'm going to have to read the last hundred pages or so again.

Couldn't see.

How would you react if you fell in love with a time traveler? Clare puts it simply: "I wait for Henry, not knowing where he is, wondering if he's ok."

For Mr. Realist, I would wait. Even though he is not a time traveler, I have waited for him in the past.

There are parts that are heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Others, you just shake your head and laugh. Most of all, it's the love that Clare and Henry have that literally transcends time.

I'd love to tell you how I felt about this book, but I can't find the words. Makes me want to snuggle up with Mr. Realist and be held safely in his embrace for the rest of eternity.

Crap. I'm beginning to not see the words again.

Stupid tears.

Mrs. Dreamer