Just some thoughts for a Monday

I love passive smoking. Sometimes, I will actively move to be downwind of a smoker to inhale my lungs away.
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Ever have one of those days when you catch your reflection, or your skirt always falls down (I actually bought something too
big for me – GOODNESS KNOWS how I did that), or your shirt doesn’t sit right or you only had the bad bra left? and all you can comfort yourself with all day long is “at least my hair is clean”.
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I’m sick of whinging, of being angry, of being tired, irritable and of just saying “no” because it’s easy.
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I’m sick of people meaning well but not being helpful at all.
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I blithely discovered today that in all my recent filibustering and noble-questing, I had put someone in a very uncomfortable and difficult situation and “ugghhh”, the thought of it is just making my stomach turn. Sometimes I am so blind.
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Tonight when I got home, Mum had fed the boys, done their homework and played cricket with them. In light of other “incidents” surrounding this blog of late, I’m going to go through it and systematically remove all negative references to living together. Their original existence can be our collective secret.
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This is going to be the start to my weekend for the next several months. Apart from thinking that somewhere, at some stage, I signed something with the devil without even realising it, I am truly grateful I had boys and it isn’t a netball court:
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Badger brought up cuticles and i couldn’t let it pass. I do the cuticle thing too. My boss does it as well. We compare how atrocious our hands are. We both also get this weird dry patch on the top of our head that my hairdresser once told me loads of women have – a spot of stress exczema (so nice of him to make something up rather than pointing, laughing and saying in a loud voice, “hey, this client had dandruff real bad”. Chef is constantly saying “stop picking” as the sound of me picking at my own flesh drives him insane, but not in a good way. And I never stop picking until they bleed. And hurt. Yeah yeah, all aboard the freakshow bus.
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Susie chose to clean her fridge over going to Church. The Church thing is a whole separate post, but it reminded me of the other night when I had to solve the weird leaking of running water out of our freezer (what the???) RIGHT NOW. Not only did it involve unscrewing coverings in our fridge (which revealed just how freakin’ jibbed we all are in how much we pay for whitegoods – people, it’s like two wires, some alfoil, and metal tubes back there) but a screwdriver and mallet. Man, it felt good. For some reason the little drainage hole thingy was blocked so there was all this ice that was backed up. I’m guessing the hole is filled with the cockroaches that just love living in the warm world that is our fridge engine (and again, I ask you, what is with that? Heat to make cold? Science, it’s a crazy crazy world.) Apart from cutting my hands to hell on the Mork and Mindy-esque alfoil creation as I dug the chunks of ice out (seriously, it was my own little Pyscho recreation) after my last Church effort (
Helping in Sunday School only to hear this really dorky kid who undoubtedly will go on to Rangers and Venturers and play loads of Dungeons and Dragons…online… say, “My Mum says all Seventh Day Adventists will go to Hell.” and the reply of the Sunday School teacher, “Well yes, that’s correct but…” I don’t know what she said after that as my brain was bleeding out my ears), cleaning the fridge rocks.
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I’ve had almost a full 24 hours of wallowing self-pity of the kind that involves lots of wallowing and self-pity. I’m almost over it.