A Series of Updates

1. We took the bed off the risers and then discovered the frame was also unstable and took it off, too. Sleeping was MUCH better last night. This made my mom kind of upset, though, because she thinks (and Corey and I tend to agree) that it looks sort of trashy to just have a box spring and mattress sitting on the floor in the bedroom--even if I did sort of rig on the bedskirt. But I just can't think of another solution other than welding a sturdier frame. I hope to make her feel better with a promise of buying her a dream mansion here in Pittsburgh someday when I am extraordinarily wealthy.

2. I am not a pack rat. The first chance I got to go back to my parents' house I gave a trunk full of books to the library, shoveled out that closet, and whittled down the possessions in the whole dwelling. Two boxes of books, a small box of random in the basement, and a keyboard are super different from my sister who has two entire bedrooms of possessions there. I'm just saying. We also condensed so much stuff here in Pittsburgh we actually have like visible space on our surfaces. I have room to put down a hot dish of food on the buffet in the dining room if I wanted. Or a space to put a glass of cocoa on the table in the living room. It's so completely crazy.

3. Corey wants me to say that I plunged the drain in the tub and it flows better, even with the crud catcher/sieve in place. I still am allowed to hate the crud catcher despite the improved drain because the crud catcher still leaves balls of goo and soap scum all throughout the tub. Plus it's large and unsightly and just plain gross. I want to buy a grate thingy with holes in it to catch hair and allow other items to flow through the drain. Like a normal person would have. I don't want large plastic machinery in my tub. But in the interest of full disclosure, plunging the drain was a great compromise and likely the drain was a huge culprit in the problem. As soon as I get my friends over here with a drain snake and really go to town in there, I might take a shower and see my feet for the first time since we moved in. No more combo tub/showers!

4. Watching South Park online (thanks to my cousin Peacelovemath) has changed Corey's life. I don't have to talk to him or look at him anymore. He's always down in his man cave watching South Park on the internet. In fact, this very second he is bellowing that I need to get down there and join him. But I want to re-watch Anne of Green Gables. And I probably will. Life is really good right now.

Lost at Sea

I am exhausted, dizzy, and seasick this morning after what is easily the worst night's sleep of my life. This includes all the times I've drunkenly slept on floors or been camping on a rocky slope. The cause of my misery? Corey, obviously.

We are in my childhood room, in my childhood bed, which my mother has since placed on risers to help store the ever-expanding pile of my sister's possessions that get to live in all of the bedrooms at Martin Drive. (Even though she moved out. Pack rat!) So anyway, what happens when you take a bed on wheels and put each wheel in a flat, smooth little cup? It rolls. It slides. The bed sways like a hammock at sea.

This is usually only a problem when you first mount the bed. Then, for a minute or so, you sway with the breeze and you fall asleep and it's fine. Only last night, Corey thrashed with the force of a goat hitting a barn wall. He didn't roll. He shot himself into the air, like Shamu, in order to flip and land with a splash. He kicked like Daniel Sepulveda on 4th and long. He rocked this damn boat as if we were Forrest Gump out to sea during a hurricane in the bayou. My resulting nausea has nothing to do with the blueberry in my uterus.

Then? This morning? He tried to cuddle and hug me.

Now I'll admit I've been experiencing what you might call hormone-induced mood swings and bursts of temper. But I am pretty sure my anger this morning was entirely justified. I am not sleeping in this hammock with him again. We're either taking it off the risers or he is sleeping in one of my other sisters' rooms tonight. Or else I'm giving him a sleeping pill so he stays put.

Conversation at 530 AM

Me: I can't sleep
Corey: Ungh
Me: Do you know how to make eggs?
(Corey hates eating eggs because he doesn't like how they feel in his mouth)
Me: I think you should know how to make eggs in case our kids want to eat eggs someday
Corey: Aren't girls born knowing how to make eggs already?
Me: We should go downstairs and make eggs
Corey: I can make scrambled eggs. You just crack them in the pan and stir it up, right?

And then, pacified, I was able to go back to sleep.

The Pies!

My refrigerator currently contains two pumpkin pies, baked by me last night. The story of the pies is sort of pathetic. I was going to purchase pre-baked pies, but had a hissy fit on discovering these cost $9 each. I stomped through the store finding ingredients--not an easy task in the Giant Eagle Market District because they constantly rearrange the shelves and keep things in a nonsensical organization in order to get customers to buy more crap. It worked! I got a dark chocolate bar I hadn't counted on buying!

Anyway, I bought all these things and came home to bake only to discover we had no sugar. What family has no sugar? None! No sugar. I had to go ask the neighbors, who were also out of sugar except the little bit they put in their morning coffee. I took their coffee sugar. Why? Because I already steal their herbs and wreck their oregano. I might as well take their coffee sugar! (Actually, they assured me they were going shopping later)

So now I have these delicious, perfect pies. And I can't eat them! And with my super-sonic pregnancy sense of smell, I can smell them at all times. Even with the fridge closed. Even upstairs. I smell them and I know they're in there. What would happen if I just ate one? Would my family rebel and never speak to me again or would they forgive me one silken, gingery pie...

How will I make it until after dinner tomorrow knowing these pies exist?

Eat My Words

For the past week or so since I got my cold, I've been walking around saying, "I'd rather be nauseous every day than feel congested like this."

And everyone, wisely, said, "You're wrong. You'll see!"

Today, on my way home from CrossFit, I knew I was going to vomit. I told myself you wait until you get home. You must not barf while driving and you are NOT pulling over to barf in a stranger's yard. I just about made it, too.

I parked so crookedly it looks like a drunk driver ran up on my curb. As soon as I was out of the car I was losing myself all over the flowers, the walk, the driveway, the door.

In my hat and gloves, I paraded down to the Pittsburgh Potty making a disaster of my house and clothes. This is a nightmare. I'm sitting on the kitchen floor right now eating pretzels and wishing for congestion. Hopefully, Corey will come home for his lunch break and clean it all up so I can continue sitting on the floor eating pretzels.