I can’t sleep.  Which kind of sucks because it’s 1 a.m. and I have to wake up in six hours, at which time I certainly will be able to sleep–will most likely be sleeping quite soundly–but by that time sleeping will no longer be one of my options.  I hate when this happens.

My husband is out of town.  He had a work thing to do in California, and he’s going to stick around through part of the weekend so he can go to his brother’s graduation.  He’ll be back Saturday evening.  Meanwhile, here I am.  //SQUEAMISH AVERT YOUR EYES//  I’m on day two of my menstrual period, and I’ve had cramps all day long, but the only bottle of ibuprofen that we have is in my husband’s car.  Don’t ask me why, but it is.  Also don’t ask me why I didn’t just go to the store and buy some more.  Well, because I was sure we had some other bottle in the house somewhere, but I was mistaken.  And then it was evening and children were going to bed, and I don’t have to explain myself to you, okay?  The only ibuprofen in the house is the infant suspension formula, and I don’t like grape flavoring, so I’m still in pain.

//NO, IT IS NOT SAFE TO LOOK AGAIN YET//  I’m telling you, Aunt Flo comes back with a vengeance after the gestation and birth and subsequent breastfeeding of a child.  This time it’s personal, and all that.  It’s like cramming eighteen months’ worth of hormonal drama into five days, only I don’t get as fat.

I do have acne again.  //YES, IT’S OKAY TO READ NOW//  When I was a teenager and in my early twenties, I had an acne problem–not one of those horrible face-covered-with-pustules problems, but I would get these giant zits that lived under my skin and never actually broke out.  In a way that was lucky, I guess, because it wasn’t quite as gross as it could have been, but it was annoying and very painful.  My chin was the worst.  I think I had five or six wannabe pimples living subdermally on my chin at any given time during that six-year period, but once I got a single, enormous, killer blemish that, I kid you not, took up my entire chin.  It was like I was growing another head out of my chin, only, you know, it wasn’t showing its face.  //YES, I KNOW I SAID IT WAS OKAY TO READ, STOP BEING SUCH A BABY, GEEZ//  I’m not exaggerating.  It was freakishly huge and enormously painful.  It seemed like I had that sucker for a month and a half, but it was probably only a few days.  It was traumatic, though.  The thing I have growing under the surface of my skin on my chin right now is not that big.  But it does hurt.  And it is annoying.  And I can’t find my Neutrogena anti-acne crap anywhere.  It’s probably not in my husband’s car, but neither is it anywhere I can see it, so it doesn’t really matter.

I fed my kids fish sticks and tater tots for dinner tonight.  I tried to counter balance it with some vegetables, but it was just for show.  Nobody but me and Princess Zurg ate them.  On the plus side, I resisted the temptation to use paper plates.  On the minus side, I did not resist the temptation to let everyone drink root beer instead of mixing up another pitcher of juice or forcing them to drink milk or water.  I was tired, I had cramps, there was Mt. Vesuvius on my chin, and Elvis kept smashing his head into it.  I just wasn’t in the healthy drink-enforcing mood.

Thanks also to my husband, who convinced me that I do in fact have Restless Leg Syndrome–an actual medical condition, look it up, haters–I am having particular difficulty sleeping these days.  I have a prescription for a valium “cousin” that my shrink gave me a few months ago for a totally unrelated malady, but I’ve found it most useful in coping with my RLS.  I am still breastfeeding, but I only take it at night, after the baby’s nursed, and it wears off after eight hours or so, and even if it didn’t, she could stand to chill out a bit anyway.  Just kidding.  I think.  Anyway, I took it tonight, but it ain’t working for me.  My legs are still restless, but mercy, I am tired.

Speaking of my husband, I still don’t know what the heck I’m getting him for Father’s Day.  I had such excellent plans, but they all involved more foresight than I was able to contribute, and thus my need for some Plans B.  When SD takes the kids out shopping for me for Mother’s Day, they don’t seem to have a problem figuring out what to get me.  The kids never know what they want to get their dad.  Except for Mister Bubby, who always wants to get people what he himself wants.  Which is why SD has Super Monkey Ball, I have a Justice League graphic novel, and Princess Zurg has Dandelion the Fairytopia doll (long story).  So at least MB will have a present for his dad come Sunday.  What I’ll steer PZ and myself toward, I still have not an inkling.  My husband isn’t always this difficult to shop for.  Just this year.  We both were difficult to shop for this year.  We already have too much of what we want.  We need to have less, not more.

I’m not feeling very coherent right now.  I think the valium’s cuz is kicking in.  I’m falling asleep even though my legs are still bothering me.  I must adieu while the night is still relatively young.  I apologize for this crap blog entry.  I’ll write you something better later.  Maybe.  If I’m awake……………………………………………

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