Memes...the last refuge of the uninspired blogger. Yoinked from Mignon.
This one's a sentence completion task.
I am a rock? Sam? I said? Who is Darkman?
I want the life that I have.
I wish chronic and serious illnesses didn't exist.
I hate broccoli.
I miss my oldest and dearest friends. I hardly ever see them, and should make more of an effort to get together. Although that's logistically difficult with the one in Europe (hi, Robin!).
I fear centipedes. And millipedes. Really, I loathe them, but I already put broccoli in the hate line. I also kind of fear cats—don't trust them, don't like their pointy teeth and claws.
I hear there will be a lot of new drama series on TV this fall. No actually, I don't hear well at all.
I wonder what the course of my own particular chronic illness will be. And I wonder what my son will be like when he's grown. I wonder what the hell global warming will have wrought by that time.
I regret almost nothing.
I am not your mother! This is what I used to to say to Mr. Tangerine, when he'd leave his dirty laundry wherever he was standing when he took his clothes off. You know what he, and now Ben, has sometimes done? Remove the pants and underwear as a unit, stepping out of them, leaving them standing there vacant. It looks like his body and soul done been raptured up to heaven, leaving his earthly possessions behind. Kind of a Wicked Witch melting thing. I've largely given up the battle, given that I'm the one who stays home and has the time to tend to laundry, while Mr. Tangerine is off earning his keep by putting in long hours at the office. Life is too short to fight about sleeves still rolled up on shirts in the laundry heap.
I dance in the privacy of my house, or when drunk at wedding receptions (but it's been a long time since I got drunk). I do like to dance with my little boy.
I sing absymally. But I do like to sing for my little boy.
I cry more easily when premenstrual, but there's no fixed schedule for my cycle, so it's always a mystery when weepiness hits.
I am not always the smartest person in the room. (That phrase has been ruined by that Enron documentary, hasn't it?)
I make excuses. Whatever I do wrong, I can always come up with a way that someone else could be to blame.
I write two blogs, but I don't quite have the energy for both. This one suffers as a result, but I'm trying to do better because I love the commenter community here.
I confuse Mr. Tangerine.
I need caffeine. Diet Coke, in particular.
I should be more patient.
I start arguments when I'm feeling ornery.
I finish crossword puzzles quickly.