Keeping Up

Well, in addition to my annual case of pre-Thanksgiving stomach uck, and my usual pre-Christmas case of a nasty cough (this year's case has yet to turn into bronchitis, but there's still time!) and my time-honored fit of wondering whether I'm the only one who cares and if I ought to just skip the whole holiday thing, I've managed to knock out my traditional saying-something-without-thinking-and-offending-someone a little early this year. Whew, good to know I can cross that off my to-do list.

Since it coincided with several other frustrations and a sneaky bout of PMS, I spent a couple of hours last night thinking (melodramatically, because that's how I roll when the hormone homies are in town) about quitting the whole blog thing entirely. But we all know I'm not going to do that, because I've been doing this journal/blog thing for over ten years now, and I'm not sure I can even function at work if I don't start my day with a post. So I settled for posting some angsty "think I'll go eat worms" messages on Twitter (Twitter! It's the new "getting drunk and calling your ex"!) and then going to bed to cry myself to sleep.

I offer sincere and extremely grateful appreciation to those who responded with concern. Since the most common effect of PMS is to rev up the Mutant Worrybrain with the whole "no one love me" refrain, then every individual message does its part to quash those maunderings.

So I'm better enough this morning to feel like an idiot, but still under the weather enough that I can't summon enthusiasm for much of anything, especially much of anything having to do with Christmas. Hope the hormones dry up in time for me to finish planning the party, or else it's going to turn out kind of half-assed. (You can probably imagine for yourself how the hormones are responding to that.