I need to clean.

Wendy is staying with me this weekend. It seems we've worked out a visitation schedule to keep her apart from her mother as much as humanly possible. I have her first. My place is, by my standards, a mess. Granted this would be spic and span compared to what it looked like when I was married, but still, same point.

Rachel is in the hospital. She is getting her gall bladder removed. Why do we have these extra parts? She was saying that her young hottie doctor was explaining the '5 Fs' of gall bladder problems. Female, Fertile, Fat, Forty, and Fair. Rachel fits three of those. I fit four, or at least I hope I'm fertile. I guess I'd put myself as medium fair. I'm white at any rate.

I really don't have much else to type, but I really don't want to clean. It's mainly cleaning up my sink area, which is always a royal pain in the tush. I just need more space. I want my mom's old bathroom. She had my dream bathroom. I had the closet, she had the bathroom.

I did truly have the best closet in the history of closets in that house. It was long, dark, and cavernous. Siobhan and I spent many hours in there consulting our home made Ouija board. I was going to marry Pete, of course. We were to have two kids who would turn bad if we settled in his hometown. The latter part of that, I've come to realize many years later, is a given. I'd turn to the Dark Side too if I had to live there. She on the other hand, would meet somebody her first year at college named Nick R., and they would marry three years later. She just got married this summer, and her husband's name is not Nick R, so go figure. Then again, I didn't have two kids with Pete.

Well that was probably a lot more than you needed to know. Ok, Chasha. Time to get to work. Now. I need to be cleaning, not typing. As soon as I finish this entry, I will clean. I'm done with it. I've said all there is to say. Ok. On three...

two...

one...

-CRbE