Pour your misery down. Pour your misery down on me.

What was a rather good week last week, (what with the Baby walking and all) has suddenly come to a screeching halt. And good god, things could not get any worse if I tried.

1. Work is kicking my ass. I never talk about work here, and I never will. Except to say, it's killing me right now.

2. The Baby is sick. REALLY sick. I can't even talk about his issues without wanting to sniffle back a few tears. I just spent Mr. Howell money on 4 kinds of drugs for this little one and who knows if they'll even work. While he wasn't born a crack baby, he is one now.

3. I just went to Target to procure said drugs. I saw root beer. In bottles. Not my favorite brand, but at this point, I'd take anything in a bottle. It was on the top shelf, high up. Higher than little 5'-1" me anticipated. And the root beer...came crashing down. *sigh* Someone kill me, please.

I did the right thing and called the operator on the red phone to tell her 'CLEANUP ON AISLE 7', if you will. She seemed rather shocked that someone actually cared enough to alert them of their own stupid mistake. What can I say. I worked retail. Finding shit like that is annoying. Being told at least prepares you for the worst.

4. My MIL is here. In the two weeks she's been here she's broken one of my drinking glasses, my ceramic knife that I bought in Japan. (I went to the kitchen supply district just to buy this knife. Imagine 9 blocks of kitchen supplies and imagine my idea of heaven.) Last but most recently, she+Baby broke my...Dwight bobblehead. I know it's not important, but it was a gift. And that was more meaningful to me than the actual object itself. 4 more weeks to go...

I've decided to medicate myself by eating enough cinnamon mentos to kill a horse. Or me. The horse isn't looking so good, and unfortunately I am still alive. Just fatter.