Friday, July 28, 2006
I want to write. Words and stories are welling up inside me, but there's just no opportunity to set them down right now and I'm extremely frustrated.
Dennis is in Chicago for four days attending his grandmother's memorial service and catching up with cousins he hasn't seen in years. I'm on my own with the girls.
I have a kidney stone the size of New Hampshire that is making me feel incredibly awful. I can't really take my painkillers because they make me loopy and there's no one else here to watch Emma and Kate.
Kate is in this phase where she cries at the drop of a hat, for nothing that anyone else would even think about crying over: because there are two tiny sparkly pink pieces of glitter on her stepstool, because the stuffed animal she wants is 8 inches away at the foot of the bed, because her book isn't in the right stack on the shelf.
I've gotten a dozen rejections since getting home from vacation. My writing stinks (I know this is not true, but it feels that way at this particular moment).
I'm grouchy from the incessant pain and can't even stand myself. Poor Emma and Kate are stuck with me.
I miss my parents and being on vacation. I miss Dennis. I miss feeling like a normal human being (did I mention the stone?).
And yes, I would love some cheese to go with my whine...