Bottled Up

I have so much to say that when it comes out it sounds like a really long run on sentence. And then I can't write. Anything that makes. Any. Sense.

I've got all these parenting theories on my Scrunch worked out in my brain, I have been working on projects for her room, my blood pressure has remained quite steady considering the political stuff going on, and one of my camellias got a sunburn today. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you I bought two camellias. And got a front porch love seat for my birthday. Pretty much everything I purchase from now through September is written off as "It's for my birthday." Kind of like the roving I bought for Spin Night tomorrow and the horseback riding lesson I scheduled for Monday, and don't forget the boots we're picking out on Saturday. I'm going to spare you the adventures in freezer corn and banana streusel muffins. Even though they both rocked. I can cook. Who knew? And to mix it up we're doing the Clomid thing again. There I said it. I'm on Clomid and am almost done and you didn't even know. Don't feel bad. No one knew. My husband only just remembered that I was even taking it. Seeeee? LOTS TO SAY! I hate this because I know it's going to come spewing out at around two o'clock in the morning and I wont be able to sleep until I write something.

Something.