Atlanta’s Pride was this weekend. So while everyone up there was partying down yesterday, I was organizing my underwear drawer. What screams fun times more than matching up socks and throwing out undies and bras that have seen better days? I am sure that the estimated 2,000+ lesbians participating in the parade, wet t-shirt contest, mega dance party (with go-go dancers!), and assorted debauchery couldn’t possibly been as excited as I was while vacuuming underneath my bed to get those spiderwebs and dustbunnies.

Chewing PMS pills like they are candy while sitting on 2 bloody pads (can we say ridiculously heavy flow day?) clutching my heat pad doesn’t make my sound bitter does it? I’ve even had a bag of Cheetos. Something I had quit doing. I know if I get up and do something (like mop my disgusting bathroom floor) I wont feel quit as shitty. It is just so hard to start.

In other news classes start back Tuesday. Thank God!!! I need something (besides cleaning) to do. I hope that I like them. It is strange to think that I did this for 4 and a half years and after 1 quarter I can’t do it for 3 weeks without losing my marbles just a little bit. I know for the first bit I was pregnant, then I lived in the newborn fog. Then it was walking and talking and weaning and then potty training.

Now P is pretty self-sufficient and I just spend my days answering insane questions and telling him no a lot. No wonder I am ready to go back to class. I can’t decide if it sucks more to be me and say no 4,000 a day or him to hear no 4,000 times a day. He wants to throw everything and leave legos everywhere (even though he is the one that ends up stepping on them and hurting his feet) and break things. He begs and begs to do something and then when I let him he doesn’t like it or changes his mind. I know that it can be overwhelming to him, but good grief!!

There are so many things  I want to blog about that are just too complicated for me to try to put into a post. Politics being one of them. I do think about things other than how miserable I am. It just seems to be the shitty things that I blog about lately. Some days I am not depressed and don’t hate myself and I can think to myself that maybe I could finish school and even go on a date again.

Then something like a letter from the college saying I have to pay $500 by Tuesday or I am dropped from my classes comes in the mail. Even though I am sure it is an error it still makes me want to freak out a little. It reminds me that I have nearly 3 more years and how am I going to make it and what if I flunk out and on and on.

Something as innocent as a picture could depress me. I might let someone take my picture 3 or 4 times a year, usually at family holidays. That is 1 or 2 pictures and I’ve had enough. So I had forgot about the last picture of me and P at that festival a while back. My mom emailed me a copy of it a few weeks later that just depressed me. She wasn’t trying to hurt my feelings when she added a note saying she had touched up my tummy a little. As much of a bitch as she can be, she isn’t ever cruel.  But the idea that my own mother thought I wouldn’t be hurt by her thinking that I needed photoshopping makes me want to cry.

Enough of that crap. I’ll go clean something. At least cleaning is usually something I can do without fucking up and dirt doesn’t mind my fat ass. I just love mood swings, they are almost as much fun as bloating, cramps and diarrhea. In an ideal world we wouldn’t have all this crap. I’m sorry, but if they can make pills for men to have erections they should be able to make a pill to cut this crap out every month.