To top it off, the cat is meowing plaintively in the other room.....

Let me detail my current frustrations for you. Perhaps in a humorous way-- I don't know yet, I'm just getting started here. I doubt I can live up to Robotnik's hilarious description of his recent plumber adventures, but then, that is yet another frustration to detail (that I'm not funny and no one really loves me). Maybe, in hearing my annoyances, you can feel better about your own life. I don't know. Or maybe you'll see what a petty little brat I can be. If I were a betting woman, I'd go with option two, myself. (Maybe if I add an occasional joke you'll keep reading: okay, then. A horse walks into a bar, and the bartender says "Why the long face?") (That work? Still here? Sucker.)

As you all know, since I harp on it constantly, I am trying to write my dissertation. I've written millions of stupid papers (maybe not millions, and no, they weren't really stupid, it's the hormones adjective-ing there) in my collegiate career. I have the exact idea of what I want to write. I have read the books I want to write about three and a half million times. The little laptop Andrew bought me to write said dissertation is awfully cute, and fun to use. But for some reason, I get bogged down in minutiae and have been crawling along at a snail's pace trying to write the damn thing for almost a year now. (Yes, I have some progress made. No I am not freakin' close to being done yet.) (So the grasshopper said "You have a drink named Stanley?").

This is from a woman who can sit down and write a ten page (well-written) essay on something that is really not important in about thirty minutes. Seriously. I really mean it-- if you said to me "Kim, write a paper on the imagery of paranoia in Edgar Allen Poe's "Telltale Heart" and how it reflects his latent pedophilia" I could do that. Probably with graphics. And some sort of Power Point presentation, too. I'm just that talented. When it's not important to the rest of my freakin' life. (I'm sorry, I didn't know that was meatloaf. Nah. Doesn't work on the Geico commercial either.) Mental note: scratch off career plan as standup comedian.

I haven't written anything on it in over a week, and I woke this morning with enough nagging guilt to plan a serious day of trying to write. (I didn't say getting any done. I said trying. We all go with what we can.) But the sneaky suspicion that like most days, I'll get about two hours worth of work done and then need a nap. And then other things will come up. I'm pretty sure of it. And two hours of work is not going to get the damn thing done anytime soon.

So that's number one.

Number two: The deck.
We're having a guy build us a new deck. The old one was rotting and falling down due to last homeowners being cheap bastards. (Say that last in a Foamy accent & you know what I mean.) Andrew's friends were here last night (okay, they're my friends too. Whatever.) designing a new cool deck design. Now I'm supposed to go into this program we bought a few weeks ago and lay out the design. The guy who has been building stuff at our house for about a month now will be here later bugging me about seeing the design, and whining about when Andrew will be home. (Why does an elephant paint his balls red? To hide in cherry trees.)

However, said deck designer program is unwieldy, not intuitive, and downright annoying. I think, honestly, the scribbled on paper layout that the guys did last night is better than what I just spent thirty minutes trying to coax out of a computer program clearly designed by a misanthropic computer programmer who wasn't getting a bonus so deliberately left out all the key commands he knew the average user would want to use. (Like the "edit this segment" command, or the "move this piece" command.) Bastards.

Number three: The freakin' holiday season.

I just spent two damned days at malls trying to shop. For someone else's presents. Yes. Andrew's dad always asks me to buy his presents to give to people for him. Mostly cause he sucks at it, and in past years, I didn't mind. It meant I got a really good present out of it because I buy my own gift, and I spare not the cost on me. But this year, with all of the issues I have, including the alien being sucking the energy out of me, I just don't feel like it anymore. Add to that the fact that all those stores in the mall that usually have billions of cute outfits I'm just dying to wear had NOTHING for me yesterday. Until I went into Express and found a sixty dollar skirt that was the only thing remotely appealing. And I have to go to a stupid work holiday party Saturday and look presentable and I have this extra bulge that does not yet look like baby, just looks like I've been perhaps stopping at Krispy Kreme every day for one of those death-by-drinking-straw lattes that they have. Plus some donuts. (Have you ever seen an elephant in a cherry tree? See. It works.)

This is probably way more griping than you can handle. I don't think it's very funny. I can't imagine why you want to read it (you'll probably leave here thinking Good Lord someone warn her husband to buy flowers tonight, or bring home chocolate). And you would probably be right to scurry away like little scurrying things in front of something scary (it's a crappy simile. Live with it.)

And the last joke of all? Writing this terribly grumpy blog entry has now cheered me up. Perhaps it's like a song worm. Passing it along to someone else helps you not hear that stupid Christmas Bells carol over and over until you're begging someone to jam an ice pick into your left eye.

So. Happy 3rd day of Hanukkah. Keep those candles burning. Whilst I go attempt to drag something relevant out of my red-headed skull. Wish me luck.
(So the duck says, yeah, could you get this guy off my ass?)