Confession Friday

It’s Friday. Welcome to the minutiae that is my life.

I confess…

• …that I went to bed at 9 pm last night and slept until 6:30 this morning. And it STILL wasn’t enough. But I need to do it more often.
• …that I am a little bit addicted to finding BBC shows online. Which, you may have guessed, precludes me from accomplishing the point above.
• …that the fact that the Russell Williams trial has been absolutely EVERYWHERE in the media and covered in so much disturbing detail has had me a little upset this week.
• …that stories like the above, among other things, is why BDH doesn’t want me reading the news anymore. I used to be a news junkie. I spent hours and hours reading papers on the weekends. But I just don’t have the stomach for it anymore.
• …that I ate a Wendy’s salad for lunch and now I am feeling somewhat ill.
• …that seeing my daughter’s face crumple and seeing the big tears and hearing her sob after she has gotten in trouble for something just breaks my heart and makes me cry. Maybe it’s because she’s always so sunny and happy and so rarely cries. And it hurts to know that I or her father have made her upset.
• …that I am following a whackload of celebrities on Twitter. I follow them and then see who they follow. And then I follow someone from their list, and possibly dump the original follow. And on and on it goes. What I am looking for is that ultimate REALLY INTERESTING FOLLOW. So far, I’ve found a few good ones that way. And never who you expect.
• …that I get sucked in by the naive enthusiasm of initial meetings with the various health professionals I have been referred to for Stinkerbelle — nutritionists, occupational therapists, speech pathologists, community liaisons — which makes it even more disappointing when the initial appointment goes nowhere except an endless waiting list.
• …that the book I am reading for Book Club reminds me why I stopped reading fiction. I’m tired of depressed and downtrodden characters. I don’t want to read 400 pages only to be really bummed out at the end. At least with non-fiction, if someone is a jerk and is the subject of the book, you probably know that going in.
• …that I am already beginning to feel like I want to hibernate, and it’s only October.