We still have ants. Not as many, but any number greater than 0 is too large for my taste. And of course they waited until Saturday morning to show up, so we can't call to yell at the exterminator dude until Monday.
I cannot breathe, pronounce several key consonants, or move more than three feet without worrying that I will lose significant proportions of my body weight out of my nose. I have these coughing fits that make my eyes cross. And my fever has drastically increased my minimal amount of personal space.
I have two children for whom the phrase "personal space" has no relevance to their actions.
My mother-in-law is coming to visit in three days.
Whinnnnnnnne.
I probably actually would have a drink or three of an evening, to help smooth out a few edges, except I'm a little nervous about mixing cold meds with alcohol. I have to get healthy again *someday*, right? I can get liquored up then.
(For those who don't know, I'm not a recovering alcoholic or anything quite so dramatic. I just don't like alcohol, which makes Willem sad.)
Though, to counteract the misery - I have horribly clashing beanbag chairs in my living room, but I have cute kids to go with 'em:
