Laurie Held Hostage

Gah.

Weather? Shitty. Roads? Icy. Electrical poles/wires (and their ensuing comforts of heat & hot water)? Down. Schools? Closed. Back? Out. Children? Bored, cranky, and cold. My mind? Shot to hell.

Jesus gay, being trapped in the house with the children for two long days with no electricity to a) heat us up and b) numb our brains with the healing powers of television has got to be some strange form of torture. I've tried to blog coherently, but my brain circuits keep misfiring or short-circuiting or some shit like that. I'd love to sarcastically tear into that bitch from the electric company or moan about our neighbors who wouldn't stop calling us to see if our power had been restored (fuck, no, how many times do I have to tell you?), but I ain't can't string no sentences together good.

Plus, my back is out. Way way way out. And there's a lump back there, where there was no lump before. My husband (who has no medical degree, google or otherwise) suggests that it is an ectopic alien baby. So then I was compelled asked if he could accept the alien baby once it's born and raise it as his own. He was non-commital, probably planning to sell our story to the Weekly World News and mentally spending money from that. Which kind of pisses me off, because he would totally expect me to raise his alien baby, if our situations were reversed, you know he would.

And also, I am feeling guilt for forgetting to pay the phone bill. I mean, I have reallyreallyreally forgotten it good this time. Please don't shut off our service, Ma Bell, we really do love you, it's just that I forgot. I promise to make good.

And finally an observation: If a baby claps and squeals with unabashed glee for a whole goddamned hour because the television is finally BACK ON, then that baby is probably watching too much tv.