Day 3 – I’m rewriting a story I had first written on blue paper in purple pen in the 9th grade. I’ve tried many times in the past to edit my childish prose, but have been unable to until now. Now it’s working. It might actually work. I think I can do this. I’m at 4500 words. I need to write another 1500 today to keep on schedule. I can do this. Really, I can. Damn you, insecurity and procrastination, making me write a blog post instead of another chapter of my novel.
I find myself increasingly irritated when, no matter how hard I try to keep to plastic, bamboo and silicone utensils, my nonstick pans always get scratched. Most recently my GOOD frying pan -you know, not the one that has months of PAM residue in it and has baked-on brown grease spots- became a victim of the dishwasher, whose evil, plastic-coated supports have become worn on top, exposing their horrifically sharp steel innards. Damn you, dishwashers, and your convenient place to hide the dirty dishes.
Today I also realized the full extent of my grudging dependence on microwaves, as I dumped a can of chicken noodle soup into a disposable ziplock bowl and nuked it, instead of cooking it on the stove like I normally would have. Damn you, microwaves, and your evil stroking of my lazy.
Little Man is doing well. He seems to be wanting the boobahs a bit more of late, but since he’s still happily eating solid foods I’m not overly worried about it, except for the fact that he cut a second tooth on the 28th. He does like to bite things. Last night I was sitting with my foot pressed against the table leg of my ‘desk’ to keep Little Man from bashing his head into it as he explores, and he decided it looked tasty and bit me on the instep. Hottie laughed at me, unsympathetic. Damn you, uncaring bastard, I’m going to sic Little Man on you in the middle of the night.
We’re still waiting for authorization for the MRIs. We called the neurologist’s office today to find out why we hadn’t heard anything, only to find out THEY hadn’t heard anything. Apparently there’s a third party involved that handles all those arrangements and they “hadn’t gotten to it yet”. Damn you, middle-men.
I’ve found there’s only one pediatric orthopedist on our insurance list, and possibly only one pediatric physical therapist. Since Hottie’s contract job is over now, he’s free in the mornings, so hopefully we’ll be able to get those appointments done quickly while I’m able to use the truck.
Little Man can say mama, dada, and papa, and something relatively close to baba when Hottie leaves in the morning so I think he’ll be saying them on purpose relatively soon. He’s definitely getting the idea.
Hottie’s been in touch with someone from Madison, AL about a job. I’m trying very, very hard not to get my hopes up, but I am thankful that the apartment we’re at doesn’t have a penalty for breaking a lease early. There’s too much churn from Full Sail for them to do that, I think. But still, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Well, back to the grind. I’ve got a lot more typing I need to do, and the approximately 550 words I put here aren’t helping that any.
Slave to the House 
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