Keely, over at Unmom, does this thing.
You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it. Try it – it’s addicting. Then link back to Unmom and see what other people are randomly thinking.
~I have proclaimed today Official Domestic Goddess Day at my house. That means, I have the whole day off, I’m home alone and I love it, y’all. I love the silence, I love padding around from room to room with a cup of coffee in hand, thinking about what I want to clean, organize, rearrange and redecorate.
I love writing all this down on a great big ole To Do Today list and then scratching things off. Today, so far, I have walked the dog, started a load of clothes and made a hair appointment. I feel so accomplished.
~I’m still trying to figure out this “how to get people to comment on your blog” thing. This really really puzzles me. I read on one of the authoritive-type “How To” blogs that in order to get people to visit and read your blog (and this, apparantly, is what has to happen before they actually leave a comment) you have to write something that is interesting, thought provoking and/or funny. In other words, quality stuff.
The other day I posted a rant story about how much I hate dog poop. It was funny, if not thought provoking, (at least I thought it was.) More importantly, it took me over an hour to write it. It got three comments.
Now to the three wonderful people who commented, (and y’all know who you are) I thank you. Profusely.
But on my other blog, Wilmington Daily Photo, I posted a picture of my shadow and I wrote two sentences. Two. Anyone wanna guess which post got the most comments? Well, I’ll tell ya. The Shadow post got fifteen! Obviously something is wrong here. Either the experts are all wrong, or I can’t write. Or maybe dog poop stinks isn’t as funny as I thought it was.
OK, I’m done whining now.
~Have y’all been listening to all the news about the alarming rise of dementia cases? This worries me, because I forget stuff all the time. Like what I was going to say. Then, when I pause for what might be long enough to write a short novel a nano second, my husband jumps in with his own version of what he thinks I was going to say, and it’s always something sexual stupid.
For instance, Me: “Sweetheart, I thought of something else we need to put on our shopping list…”
Long pause while I try to remember what I was just thinking of.
Jeff: hopefully, after waiting patiently “…..condoms?….lube?…..vibrator?”
I hope it’s just another sign that I’m getting older, like all the other things that keep pestering me. What other things, you might ask. Saggy knees, curly white hairs (so stupid considering all the brown ones dyed blond are straight) foot pain, tennis elbows although I don’t play tennis, hot flashes, crazy acne that has persisted way past puberty and really looks disconcerting on my wrinkly cheeks, and of course, hot flashes.
~Still, I’ll take all of those things if I can continue to enjoy the one thing getting older has given me: grandchildren. My God, it is wonderful to hold a baby again.
I have told y’all that I have another grandchild on the way, right? A boy! He’s due January 1st. I can’t wait.
~Yesterday was what we affectionately refer to as “Crappy Day.”Crappy Day is the day after our last 12 hour shift of night shift. My husband, Jeff, and I work together in a factory, the largest one of it’s kind in the world, that makes optical fiber. Optical fiber is that stuff that allows your computers to connect to the internet, just in case y’all didn’t know. And it’s made out of glass. Very hot glass, before it gets turned into fiber smaller than a human hair. I handle the hot glass. Jeff works on the equipment that measures the final product’s properties, before it is shipped out the door.
I know. Boring.
Anyways, we work 12 hour rotating shifts, or “swing shifts.” That means we work nights from 7 pm to 7 am, then we are off for three days and go back into work on day shift, which is 7 am to 7 pm. Then we are off for one day, and we go back on nights. Then we are off for three more days and then we go back in for four days and then we get a seven day break, except we have to work forced overtime for a day or two, and/or maybe a night during that week off.
Confused yet? Welcome to my world.
My doctor tells me that it is a proven fact that folks who work this kind of schedule are 90% more likely than someone who works a regular 9 to 5 job to develope stomach ulcers (right after she diagnised me with one). Apparantly the body does not respond well to the stress of constantly figuring out whether it is supposed to be awake or asleep. Go figure.
Maybe this accounts for my memory loss and my whiny attitude. Maybe shift work causes dementia. I know it causes whining. Just ask Jeff if you don’t believe me, y’all.