penelope's vow

Sunday morning I woke up literally on the wrong side of the bed. Except it was the couch, where I sleep regularly now, switching over halfway through the night because for some reason (okay, well duh--baby in the belly), I have this tendency to wake up and not be able to go back to sleep unless I change locations. Sometimes my husband is snoring, but more often he is breathing, and so are the dogs, and occasionally a car will drive by on the street. It's very disturbing, you know.

I don't move to the guest bedroom because it is currently a pit. Not necessarily a bad pit; it just happens to be the designated dumping ground for the all the gift baskets my mom and I have been trying to sell for a few months as a side business. Hopefully one day a regular business, but so far--well. The bed is completely covered with boxes full of these baskets, so you can guess how well it's going. But I have optimism. These baskets are cute, people, and for all occasions!

So I usually move to the couch, which has a nice little chaise on it, which I can sleep, for the most part, comfortably on. I say for the most part because sometimes in my midnight, off-balance, waddling stupor, I trip over a dog bone in the living room, or a shoe, or air, and nearly land myself in-between the chaise and the coffee table, rather than squarely on the couch.

I am so off on a tangent. What I was trying to get to with this blog is that since Sunday, I have been in a BAD MOOD. I have list of tiny reasons, starting with waking up on the wrong side of the chaise, for this new mood. Most of the reasons point to me being extremely shallow, i.e. running out of cute maternity shirts because my belly's getting a lot bigger all of a sudden and I can't wear the stuff I was wearing without my husband calling me Mrs. Federline. Blah. Also, there's the series of bad hair days brought on by the recent increase in temperature and humidity. Every fall I go through this--IT'S NOVEMBER. Did North Carolina not get the memo? GOD. And third, my rings are getting tight. Tight enough that very shortly I may not be able to squeeze them over my swollen knuckles without the use of butter. Which freaks me out--not because this is a long-term condition, because it's clearly not, or even that I won't be able to wear my rings for a few months (which really, really does bother me, but for different reason)--but because it's like Finger Claustrophobia when you're struggling to get them off. Major panic.

I'm just annoyed. Annoyed at everything these past few days. Annoyed at inconsiderate and/or oblivious drivers, annoyed because of the humidity and the shirts, annoyed because I'm tired, annoyed because the brand "babystyle" apparently makes maternity pants for anorexic moms, annoyed because people talk loud, annoyed because my potato soup at lunch yesterday tasted like plastic and I had to throw it out, annoyed because I then had to buy a sub from the deli downstairs, and it had close to half a bottle of dressing slathered on it, and I didn't want to eat out again anyway until we get paid because we have like $17 left in our account. Annoyed because I look annoyed, and feel annoyed, and annoyed because everything I say out loud sounds crabby and aggressive. And annoyed. And there's really no good reason for it.

BLAH! I'm taking a vow of silence.