Ang, you're a lemon-flavored lollipop in a buffet of soupy diarrhea.

Yet again, she's made my day by sending me a care package of pregnancy books, stickers, and nametag stickers with such titles as "Queen of the Porcelain Throne" and "Tired". Man, I should get pregnant more often. I've had more people wish me well and give me cool shit than any other birthday party or Christmas get-together in my whole life.

I've had a lot of female friends to fall back on lately, and I'm oh-so grateful. I remember when my friend Amber got pregnant, I was nowhere in sight. I'm inclined to believe it was more because she needed time and space to sort things out, but I still feel a little guilty for not talking to her until her son was 6 months old, and here she is walking me through my first pregnancy. She's definitely looking for "parent" friends to do stuff with, and she knows damn well I'm going to be stuck in the same position she is, so more's the better.

It's like being invited over to the dark side. Well... Not invited, so much, as suddenly, one day, you find that you're already THERE, with a room full of crazy parent ladies chortling quietly to themselves because they know exactly where you're headed.

Work-wise, I've fallen into the depths of hell. I haven't been following up with any of my customers and getting any drawings done in my free time. I suppose it'll be kind of like practice for when the baby's here, because I won't have time to do anything other than wipe its ass and feed it, let alone do my work or clean the house. I've turned down several larger projects because I know I'll never get anywhere with them, my head's so damn foggy. It's hard to cope with, since I'm the major breadwinner and I'm letting money basically slip through my fingers.

I can't smoke like a chimney or drink myself halfway to oblivion to relieve my stress, either, so that only compounds the issue. Damnation!

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When life hands you lemons, ask for tequila and salt and call me over.