I keep writing.
I keep deleting--
Avoiding having to see my own disappointment in words I expect.
ha.
That's probably it right there.

::exhaling::

Still waiting on a contract to go through.
I'm giving up cognitively--albeit more slowly on the emotional side in regards to the job in Iaq. Politics here have made the Iraqis there bold and so they are refusing to honor contracts when USG assets will be theirs soon anyway. I'm processed with passport in hand, but I don't think it's a go. At least in saying this, I get a finality.

Hell yes, I'm disappointed.
Those who thought it was a crazy idea, but were diplomatic in saying how could you leave your family to go to work? Thank you for your candor and point of view. It was welcome.

Those who dismissed, ridiculed and judged (mostly IRL).
Go fuck a farm animal.
Sorry Phil, I know you think there are lots of others words in the English language which convey thought more optimally than the word 'fuck'.
I agree.
Though the word 'fuck' in terms of its versatility and ability to relay extreme pique remains unsurpassed in my mind.

Indeed, it is my hope They-who-know-who-they-are do the farm animal simply on my exhortation above, but go copulate with a horse just doesn't flow. There's no ring to it, no alliteration, no nothing. :::thoughtful look as I review the missive:::
c-o-p-u-l-a-t-e
Nope.
It doesn't work.
:::brightening:::
"Fuck" it is!

Yeah, I'm cranky.
Yeah, I kept putting off a post because of it.
Yeah, I posted other crap just to avoid it--though you have to admit the Lent/masturbation combo did have it's charm.
Yeah, I am still doing the stay at home mom thing, baking the damn cookies, doing the shopping, and lurking all over the blogosphere. Yes, I know fellow SAHMers, you prolly do way more than I just listed. I'm focused on underachievement at this point though. Don't want to get too good at it. It could change the hubs perspective on which of us is more suited to domestic tasks and then I'd really screw myself.

It's a slow simmer all that.

Pop is working his stateside contacts and gearing up for Plan B and I'm going to go find work tending bar or waitressing or something until we head out into the wide world of land agents. I figure just about the time I find the barjob to maintain sanity, Pop will call and say it's time to hit the road.

Meh.

This is what it is.
A rant.

I'll get over myself.