Always the moon

It's been a strange week.

I took a hiatus from the morning pages, Julia Cameron would be appropriately dismayed, but I just can't do them anymore unless I do them right, and random events just kind of had a way of taking over for a while. I feel as though the moon is doing this, testing us all, along with the fricking loonies in society (as always).

My family is sick. I am not, everyone else has random, throaty symptoms, and this has been unpleasant. Zizzy has been a general nightmare since approximately last Thursday, which may be attributed to this throat illness, but I think more so to the fact that she just turned three. Sometimes three year olds can be moody, snotty little bastards. Again, I don't have any patience for this, but try to remember that it's a phase she's going through, she's a wonderful and sweet little girl, normally, and she'll grow out of the sass-hole remarks. Hopefully.

The baby has been affected by hardly eating a thing but filling about 4 diapers with gallons of loose, yellow, extremely offensive excrement. She is averaging roughly 3 baths per day as a result and is very clingy.

I have been having a lot of thoughts lately of something I don't really deal with that often, which is either loneliness or isolation. I don't know if it's the weather, or my hormones or what, but it's been bothering me. My mother lives 100 miles away. My brother lives about 20 miles away but he works all the time. My dad died 12 years ago and never met his grandchildren. I feel like sometimes it would be very nice and helpful if someone was around, just to be here for us.

I was going to **try** and dig deeper into a few other things, but my sick husband, who is sleeping on the floor about 10 inches away from me, is snoring so loud, I seriously cannot even complete thoughts anymore. It sounds like the smoke monster from LOST is in here with me.

two final items, not requiring much thought. . .

1. some douche wanted me to WEIGH his cappucino tonight, after he obviously felt it was too heavy. I kind of had to bite it on that and just remake it, but not before I reminded him that he let it sit on the counter for about 4 minutes before he took a sip of the first one. . . .

2. someone else, a regular, ALWAYS now has a problem with the way I make her drink. If it's not the amount of syrup pumps (which now changes every time) or the whipped cream, or the fucking COLOR of it, it's something else. I think she's harassing me.

thoughts.

I think I have narrowed down the problems of the world to basically one root cause: PEOPLE NOT MAKING THEMSELVES HAPPY.