what else is there to do?
When not being midwifish - for example this week - I:
Am compulsive: --> ate homeade chicken soup for 8 meals in a row. Not from one batch. Nor from one batch of groceries. ahem. Is it a bad sign when the cashier at the checkout notices you've bought the same ingredients twice in one week?
Am literary: --> read several books, only one of which was on breastfeeding. So there (unless you count Christina Rosetti's Goblin Market as breastfeeding, which you really, really shouldn't).
Am slothful: --> 11 hours is a nice length of time to sleep. Plus the naps of course. Especially the ones in the bath. Prunily pleasant. Am thwarted:
--> despite excellent attempts, my track record for re-selling uselessly expensive textbooks remains at universe: ad infinitum, me: 1. Furthermore, the one victory can't even be enjoyed properly because it wasn't my textbook; I just sold it to be spiteful (justified!). Am productive: --> so it appears you're supposed to actually run those errands. Intriguing.
Am feverish: --> if I knit all the wool I own into things, it will take up less space in my suitcase. Right? Am pressured:
--> my lovely (male) relation claims "if you can convince me, i wont buy a gun". Splendid, I needed something to get all soap-boxy and critical about in my time off. Am irresponsible: --> where is my cell phone? who knows! Why is there a giant daikon radish on the backseat of my car? probably because the creepy man at the grocery store suggested I buy it and I did so in an attempt to evade further conversation with him. . . he has white clown hair! Am vastly complex and fascinating: --> or, well, you know. . . I like to think my inner machinations are thusly. Ca va? Ah, see. . .there is plenty else to do
even if it is all a little lacking in bodily fluids