Halfway Through the Month Already...

...and yes, I do sort of wonder where the hell it all goes. We've got a month from now to complete The Big Pack in anticipation of carpet replacement--have to kick Steve's ass as hard as possible on that one. I also made a list of stuff I need (genuinely need, not like "oh, wouldn't it be nice if I had x") yesterday, and was amazed by the apparent impossibility/difficulty of every part of it: New bras to replace the ones that are literally falling apart on me, which would require me going to the Annex to get fitted again at Secrets from my Sister, then ordering said bras and the wait that usually involves; repossessing my re-sized wedding and engagement rings from jeweller's, which would take $120 I never seem to have all at once; new athletic shoes, which would probably be around $100 as well, unless I get them from Payless (which I'm not going to do...did that once. They gave no support, and the soles detached a month later; cheap really ain't too useful, if the quality is for shit).

And wait, let's not forget the two light fixtures--one for Cal's room, on for the living room--which would allow us to get rid of all the shitty hand-me-down lamps we're already using (because the guy who lived here before us took the fixtures from every area but the kitchen with him when he left), then move the tall Ikea lamps Cal keeps trying to murder himself with into our bedroom, where he can't get at them and the diffuse light they provide will work far more practically than it does where we routinely eat, sleep, play and read.

Cal is sleeping in his playpen right now, bare-ass--I'm trying to air out his rash, so it has a chance to heal. I followed Mom's advice and put down two towels to prevent accidents, as though he were a puppy, which he effectively sort of is. But at least he's happier than he has been, because when I'm alone with him and he's not, I usually end up feeling like the worst person in the world; bad enough that my brain feels scoured and weak, that nothing seems to click and the words won't come, that I stayed up 'till 3:30 A.M. "last night" reading The Stand over and over, and got nothing out of it except a vague sense that Stephen King at his worst is somehow better than me at my best. I sure don't need Unhappy Baby Syndrome on top of all that.

Ah, well. Tomorrow, agincourtgirl comes over. Sunday, we go to Mississauga. Maybe I can get Mom to spot us a night out to see The Amityville Horror 2005. Maybe it won't suck,.

Maybe.