poor, neglected brainsponge... I'd be surprised if anyone is still reading this.

I woke up cranky this morning, having no one or nothing to blame but myself and the fact that I'm a female and I menstrate. I really should read more about that whole phenomenon so I can better understand the irritability that inevitably goes along with it. Maybe I'll put that on my summer reading list, right after I finish Freud's Interpretation of Dreams that I've been putting off because of school. Eh, maybe I'll just not care.

Once again I'll state that my life has been a little hectic over the past few months, but things are slowing down now. I'm done with my Careers class after happily giving a neat little poster presentation on high school to career transitions on the long-anticipated lastnightofclass. I found that project to be fun because I was able to be creative; but I was dissatisfied because (and I'll admit procrastination) I didn't get to spend as much time on it as I would have liked. Also, I was horrified to discover that after all my last minute hard work, the poster warped a bit from sitting in my car all afternoon. But on a positive note, I was at least given a clever opening line into the actual presentation... I think I said something like, "at first glance you may think my presentation a bit "warped", but if you'll follow along, you will soon see it's relevance..." I got a few chuckles anyway... And I left happy, knowing I was done with school for the summer. I'm looking forward to my freedom for the next few months. In fact, the last week has been wonderful for that simple fact, alone. Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this school thing, but I know well enough that I'd be unhappy and restless without this goal. What often makes it hard is the drastic change in priorities after marriage and having a baby. I find myself thinking more and more about staying home with my kid - and eventually - kids. In fact, I'm already starting to plan for the next one, but I won't go into that now.

So who knows when I'll post again. I'm realizing it must be a therapeutic thing. The only times lately where I'm inspired to write are when I'm in some sort of funk (ie: this morning's hormonal issues). Otherwise, it seems like I have to force myself. We'll see what brings me here next... Will it be from distress or enthuse? One never knows, do one?