I’ve often wondered…

Why exactly it is that I feel compelled to read things that I know will just piss me off?  I used to do it with parenting stuff and now I do it with fiber stuff (acrylic v. wool makes breast v. bottle look tame, people.  Really.) and I have no idea why.  I think there’s some part of me that fears that if I quit being angry at people for being people, I’ll disappear into a puff of irrelevancy.  Or something.

I clearly need more to drink.  Of course, I haven’t had anything to drink, but some days I think that chasing the three kids around leaves me making little enough sense that I qualify as half-drunk anyway.  Heh.

The thing, of course, that I’ve always missed most about smoking is not having an excuse to go outside for 10 minutes and be left the hell alone for that little stretch of time.  Why I can’t seem to justify that without the killing myself slowly part, I’m not really sure.  Doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it?  But there it is.

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