Today was one of those days where I woke up and actually wanted to go to the beach, which is rare.
It was mega-cloudy, so what I did instead was sit in bed and cry because I miss my dog (and also my family).
Then I cried because I somehow ended up watching a YouTube clip of Jon Stewart's monologue on the Daily Show the day after 9/11 (How did that happen? I cannot tell you. The internet is a strange place.)
And then I cried because I started thinking about this Osama death, and what it must feel like for people who actually lost someone in the 9/11 attacks, and what it must feel like for the families of all the soldiers who have been sent and who are still stationed overseas. Or those people who lost loved ones in this war against a concept. And I hoped that it was at least mildly consoling, but I thought that it probably wasn't, for the most part, because "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind," and I think that's sort of embedded in our DNA somewhere. And then my mind wandered into conspiracy theories for just a moment, but I am incapable of thinking like that for extended periods of time, and mostly, I think they're nonsense.
After I was finished with all my morning wallowing, the fetus declared that it needed a cheeseburger from McDonalds, and that's a new thing, because I have been vegetarian for about two years, and even before then I knew McDonalds' food was not originally intended for human consumption. Alas, I hopped in the car and headed that way, crying all the way there because no one will hire me and why am I unemployable?! I got distracted, though, and settled on coming back home to eat leftovers and some dairy-free oreo-like cookies for lunch dessert, because that's a thing now.
I read a crappy book for a while, because I have plowed through all of my good books. It is not my week, friends.
Because the fetus did not get the cheeseburger it required for lunch, it demanded that I make chili for supper, and that was appropriate because it had been raining all day and the house was actually kind of drafty (I miss Arkansas mostly for it's unexpected chilly weather). I minced an onion, and thought about all of the reasons that mincing things is stupid, and hard, and why can't I do it still even though my mother and Eric have shown me a million times? I thought momentarily about putting it in the food processor, and then decided probably not. Wished I owned a slap-chop, etc.
After I labored over a hot stove for approximately 18 minutes, it became clear to me that chili was the last thing I wanted to eat, and it actually sort of made me want to throw up.
And here we are.
Why did I tell you any of this, blogpals? I have no idea.
If I had to wrap this up in a theme for you, I guess it would be that I am really tired of being pregnant.
I enjoy food and not crying far too much to do this much longer.
Four more months.