why is it…

that I only want to write when I’m full of rage or sadness or some other emotion I don’t want to feel? I guess it’s my brand of therapy. So I got canned last week. I expected it, but it still ain’t fun. And now I think I’m just now feeling the effects, along with the swelling and raging hormones of late pregnancy. Annie has started treating me like crap and I have come up with this really odd non-cussing form of swearing so at least if she repeats me she’s saying “goat balls” instead of something really bad. And maybe no one will pick up on what she’s saying if it’s that abstract. Our house is a total disaster that I cannot for the life of me catch up on. I washed ALL of Abe’s clothes I guess thinking he was going to come out the size of an 18 month old. Now there is nowhere to put them except back into the trash bags they were in to begin with. I can’t stand to be touched and that’s all anyone seems to want to do to me. Everything I eat immediately turns to gas, heartburn or pee. Lugnut has pinkeye. Crosby still has heartworms. Shady has a deviated septum. Someone please get me a beer.