Friday Feels, on Monday

Friday Feels, on MondayTuesdayWednesdayThursday.  Because I don't even know what day it's supposed to be anymore.  This blog editor has been sitting in an open tab on my computer all week, and I just keep crossing out the days and hoping today will be the day I actually string some coherent thoughts together!

Lately, I've been cleaning incessantly and lying awake with my mind racing, going over everything that needs to be done in the next month before we move.  Making lists doesn't help...getting it down on paper (or even in a spreadsheet) does little to ease my mind in this case.  I know what needs to happen, and I want it done right now.  But it's not practical to act on a lot of these things yet.  I can't turn off our utilities a month before we move.  I can't change our address with until we have a new place to live.  I can't pack our clothes and go naked for the next 5 weeks!  Ugh.

Let's get distracted by the internet!

As if Disney World wasn't trippy enough already...Going to Disney World and navigating the crowds and blistering sun with several children in tow sounds like the kind of experience you need to either avoid at all costs, or chemically alter in some way.  That being said, I kind of really want to go to Epcot and do some around-the-world imbibing.

There's something wrong with me - I watched this gallon-smashing prank video two times in a row, in tears of hysterical, suffocating laughter.  I think I psychologically regressed about 13 years in five minutes.  It really struck a chord with my inner juvenile delinquent.

In a complete non-sequitur, let's talk about one of the more mature things I've had on my mind lately:  childbirth.  My inner cheapskate (who am I kidding, it's an outer cheapskate, she's not exactly in hiding) is now freaking out.  I was almost maybe on the verge of wrapping my head around the physical aspects of childbirth and now this, the economics of baby-producing.  And mind you, my mental process hasn't even really progressed to the keeping alive of the baby or the raising of the child.  Just the birth.  That's as far as it's come.  At this rate, maybe I'll have enough money, patience, and body acceptance to have a child at age 55.  Overthinking is a serious problem.

For an interesting contrast to the above article, how do pregnancy and childbirth in the US compare to the process in Canada?

I'm off on a tangent now.  Can't stop.  Won't stop.  Or maybe I will stop.  Running, that is, after hypothetically giving birth some day.  I really hope not.

Now all these pretzels hypothetical worries are making me thirsty.



I don't know about you, but I'm sure happy it's Thursday.