I’m pretty sure I live in a bubble

October 25, 2013

That bubble is either a small town in Ohio or motherhood. I’ve been staring out the window trying to figure it out exactly. Not really sure which one, although I’m leaning toward the latter. Really, I’m sitting here pondering that because I’m totally blocked up writing my grad school application essay. It’s half done, and the Wiggles are running on repeat, turning my brain into soup — even Scarlett just exclaimed, “Not again?!” My goal is to have my application in by Monday. Lord, help me. 

I got interrupted writing this post, so I’ve completely lost my train of thought. However, I could write an entire post on how much I hate being interrupted when I’m in the middle of doing something. I’m borderline psychotic. Apparently, there are people who don’t mind interruptions. Oh, to be so cool. Part of the problem is that I’m not even capable of interrupting myself. When I’m focused on something, I can stay with it for hours, without eating, sleeping, or going to the bathroom. Or maybe that’s the bubble? Pop my bubble, and I will cut you. Like I said, psychotic.

So, it’s Friday. Brian is about to head back to the library because he has a monster exam next week. It looks like I have a date with Breaking Bad. Yes, I am always the last one to the party, but I always still dance.

Double rainbow
I don’t have any bubble pictures, but there was a double rainbow the other day. What does it mean?

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