Tuesday, March 30, 2004


Please kill me now. My throat is so raw, so painful that I need a neck transplant, which I'm pretty sure they don't do in this neck of the woods. Besides that, I'm sure my worthless insurance wouldn't cover it anyway.

I sent my husband to buy the stupid, overpriced antibiotic and Claritin. I swallowed the pills and added a few more ibuprofen to the mix and I'm still in agony.

Besides that, no one is commenting on my journal and even worse than hearing voices in my head, I'm hearing nothing but the sound of silence.

My poor baby. Today, we were in the driveway where she was sitting on a little tricycle. I was mere feet away, but I was looking at TwinBoyB who was incessantly talking--he's still not watching television--and Babygirl tipped her trike. She fell so suddenly that she didn't even put her hands up and so she fell directly onto her tiny, little nose. She cried and cried and cried. Much later, when I settled her down, we went back into the driveway. She pointed to the trike and said, "Bike" and then prepared to ride it. She paused, pointed to her nose and said in a sad voice, "Nose." No more bike riding for her today.

Her nose is swollen. She looks like a homely version of herself. Poor kid. Like Kathy Griffin, before her nose job.



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