Random Roundup

I have a feeling that this post is going to be extremely disjointed. Nay, I know that this post is going to be at least somewhat disjointed. Why, you ask. Well, mostly because that is how my mind works these days...disjointedly. I think I've mentioned before about how all the fertility drugs I was taking several years ago would make me loopy, which gave rise to TLS's nicknames for me, such as Lupronia, Follistimia, and Repronexia. Apparently, as it turns out, every single hormone makes me loopy. And as I am now well into perimenopause, I am chock full of random hormones. (Really, Intertia Girl, you ask. You're not even forty, as the giant, green countdown clock likes to tell me.) Yes, perimenopause. I have the hot flashes, night sweats, moodiness, and brains-leaking-out-the-ears syndrome. Case in point: the other day I went into the garage to get in the car to go to work. I opened the backseat to put my computer bag in, shut it, and then promptly walked around the back of the car to the passenger side and OPENED THE DOOR like I was going to be chauffered around like a lady of leisure. What the...?

What was I just talking about? I'm pretty sure that I had a point when I started this whole thing, but heck if I know what it was. The whole disjointed thing sent me off into the hormone tangent and now I'm just lost.

See? Disjointed.

Oh! I got the next section of my giant semester-long project back graded and... DRUMROLL, PLEASE... got a 99. Woooo! I got my grade the other night when I had been suffering from what TLS's family likes to call stuffitis. (You know, when you're too full and you feel ill.) I opened the email with the grade and then ran immediately through the house, sliding into the kitchen where TLS was sitting at the table reading the latest Astronomy magazine. He looked up at me with this weird expression.

Me: I got a freakin' 99!!!!!!!
TLS: Oh, I'm glad. I thought for a minute that you were coming in to throw up.
(Pause)
Me: Yeah, right. Forget running into the bathroom, I'm all about vomiting in the kitchen in front of you.

That's my husband, always keeping it real.