So, as I mentioned previously, I am not dead.

I work six days a week, nine hours a day which, to some of you, is child's play, but to lazy, diseased me, can be Hell sometimes. I like my job as a tax preparer 90% of the time (and to the 10% of you who think it's H&R Block's fault you owe money, you can fuck off) and I like the people I work with. This has become the most consuming part of my life, and I often catch myself sharing stories of irate tax-payers or the old lady who passed out in our doorway with people who don't give a damn, anyway.

I had a brief "reprieve" from work last week when I was sick in a way I haven't been since I was a kid. You remember, violently heaving and shitting away all your vital fluids while your mom brought you Pedialyte and bullion? Yeah, that was me, except my mom was absent and Sean was helplessly unaware of my needs. Bless his cotton socks, his was patient with my inert form smelling up the upholstery, though.

The other major change in my life in the past x months was the addition of a new dog to our little family. He's appropriately been renamed Odin, a name initially reserved for my first-born son (plans change, uterine tingles subside). He's from Mayday's litter and was re-adopted from a family who couldn't manage a dog his size any longer. You'd never know the two of them were related, or even the same age, though, as Odin is white with brown patches, twice as big, and already acts like an old man as Mayday does her best to eviscerate him at any given moment. I'll post some photos of him when looking at a computer screen isn't an incredibly painful chore. He's a good dog, but needs a lot of training and hurray for me, I'm doing it on my own.

Sean's been in Florida since last Saturday on some kind of an airplane trip. I don't get it all, it's for work. He hates it and to be fully honest, I revel in that a little every time I have two Tasmanian devils crashing into my legs. My insecurity always rears it's head during these times but Sean's been great about consoling my wounded ego and telling me all the things I need to hear to quit being a horrible shrew.

My family life is weird. Shannon (whose ever-increasing belly is one of the many reasons my want to reproduce has vanished) and I have figured it out: at any given moment, only one of our parents is present. After my parents separated when I was 17, my dad fucked off for about five years. We didn't see him and spoke to him only on special occasions. As two "Daddy's Girls", we were shattered and grew to hate him to compensate. Recently, however, every time my father returns home from his job in the middle of nowhere, he calls and we do something. Alternatively, my mother has essentially vanished, only occasionally coming around to tell us of her latest debauchery. And debauchery it is! When your 20-something daughters are appalled at your behavior, it's time to take a look at your life.

So that's where I've been. And you? What's new in your life (she asks, as if she hasn't been stalking your blogs this entire time)?

Damn you, Gossip Girl!

I refused to watch this show because the last thing I need is another weekly drama to consume me, but being sick and flat on my back the past two days has left me with nothing but time to fill my morbid curiosity.

Damn, damn, damn.

Hauled out the computer so that I might better explain that entry.

I'm quitting smoking as some of you may have heard me lamenting about recently and it's not going well, to say the least. Admittedly, I smoked 1.5 cigarettes today (comparable to, say, 15). I feel sick, I can't eat, my hands are shaking, and I'm dizzy as fuck. Shai has already told me to "fuck off" once today. I'd tell you why, but I'm pretty sure he'd be pissed. We're not even speaking at this point, which makes for a very uncomfortable home.

Fuck not smoking, fuck this stupid fucking pointless nicotine patch which is mostly just burning a circle into my arm and making me look like an asshole. You know how people say that your sense of smell and taste are increased when you aren't smoking? Well, guess what! Most stuff smells and tastes bad, anyway. At least I know that I'm not going to get fat, because everything that touches my lips makes me want to hurl.

Puking, shitting, and aching.

Think I food poisoned myself.

"Poisoned shrimps rings - five dolla"

For real. It was on sale for five dollars. I ate the whole thing.

Last night's sore throat turned into today horrible shakes, smelly toxin-spewing sweat and boiling-torso-freezing-extremities nightmare. I feel like complete shit.