I tend to go by the number of posts. But even that gets thrown off every once in a while. Silly Blogger.

I'm glad things are shaping up at home. I've thought of applying at Blockbuster myself, but everything I've heard says they're already swamped with people. That's what I get for living in a tiny college town. So I have to call McCulloughs back tomorrow (pharmacy) and see about Jonas' (office supply) And at this point I feel like I could just start making up random last names (Waslingham) and business types (grocery store) but that could be the fruit loops talking...

I did mention it to my dad, and got a distinct impression that a dishonorable discharge would make it *very* hard to get back in. I can still ask him about how to pursue it, but not knowing why Webb was discharged might make it difficult to give advice.

Elective surgery. Fucking scary words, yeah? But there's also 'insulin shots', 'cardiac bypass', 'heart attack', 'stroke'... It may not be so much a choice of whether or not to have surgery, but *what* surgery and *when*. My family: grandparents, both of them had multi-bypass surgeries (triple and quadruple), my great aunt died of a stroke, my uncle just had a heart attack, my brother's been on high blood pressure medication since he was a teenager and my heart is so weak I pass out sometimes just trying to stand up. Now I still do fine, if you ignore the head, but if there was an elective surgery to prevent the possibility also known as *half my family* I would take it.

We're not all built terribly well. Sometimes you have to fudge a bit to get things in proper working order. So listen to your doctor, listen to yourself, talk it over with Webb - hell, sit down and write everything-*everything*-good, bad, ugly about it, and figure out how you feel. Research can be confusing and contradictory; doctors know us as patients, not people; so good, good on you, take it all in, you're buying your *life* here, but that's my point: YOUR life. This is about what you want. No one else is getting cut open. No one else is agreeing to change how they'll live the rest of their life. It's gotta be you. You you you you you you. Be selfish on this one.

...

Clearly my genius is a frantic one. It makes more sense with the voice. and hand gestures. and facial expressions. and possibly more coffee. ... I don't know, I'm ranting. I *mean* all it, just in a more *sane* way.

I need Whitney. WHITNEY!!! My frustration over the lack of her silliness mixed with sharp insight is palpable. It bother's Wenxiao, but I love that you're all pieces of my sanity. I would be a terribly drab person if I was only made of me.

Okay. I've gone rather far afield. and been watching way too many British things.

ANYWAY. Oh crap. Where was I? Babies, I think I was on babies. Okay, yeah, it would offset your plan, but you would be healthier before/during/after the pregnancy, the massive headaches you had with Malachi would be less/gone, and you would be more able to keep up with two young children. Plans are good, but when circumstances change, the plan needs to change along with them, otherwise you're just being Bush. I'm sorry, I can love you threw killing little old ladies, I can even get past puppy-kicking, but there will be no 'I Am Dubya!' from my Deb. Nuh uh. Not on my watch.

... And I'll post more later when my brain frolics in the Land of Sensical.

...

Who the hell vacations on a scooter in a the fall!? And *why* is the word verification never right the first time?? Why? Whores, whores all of them!