I've been a bad, bad blogger. Negligent in my duties. I've missed reading blogs and leaving comments. I get inspiration from all of you...don't go away, I'll be back.
This freelance stuff is kickin' my butt. I have thirty (yes, 30) 800-word articles to research and write by the end of the month.
I've wanted to post about lots of things, but the initial idea soon flies from head. Some of it is dark and depressing (mostly about The Boy's continual struggles at home) or whiny (simply because I feel like being a big sissy); I don't want to be known as a gloomy Gertrude, or a drama queen.
I've purchased a program to help me deal with my out-of-control kid, yet have no time to read it yet. I have a psychiatrist-imposed deadline; three weeks to come up with a plan for what happens to The Boy in crisis, or she won't see him anymore.
That would mean no drugs...that just cannot happen.
And the shrink is dropping The Boy's insurance in April, so if I don't switch to another plan, then she won't see him anyway.
So I either have to find a new psychiatrist (no easy feat, there aren't many) who takes his insurance, OR find a new pediatrician/family doctor who takes his insurance.
I know 16 is kinda old for a pediatrician, but do GPs really know anything about bipolar and Asperger's? Ahh, more stuff to figure out.
And I only have ten more days of my wifely vacation - and then The Mister will be laid off, and my eighteen months of nearly-perpetual slackerdom comes to an end.
I can only imagine how The Mister's constant presence will affect The Boy's attitude (scary for me to even think about).
Come on in, EXPECTATIONS. I can't say I've missed you. You and DOMESTIC RESPONSIBILITIES can just climb on my shoulders...damn, you're heavier than I remember. And you, CONFLICT - try to keep it down, will you?