How are you?

"Fat and mad." That was my response. I thought Robb was going to fall off the couch. "Well, you asked!", I said. These friggin' hormones (fondly referred to in one of my buddy groups as Whoremoans) are just yucky. Birth control pills must be the leading cause of bar fights, break-ups, divorces and arrests of women. Seriously. I'm not kidding. I'm pissed.....a lot. Often. Damn whoremoans.

Fat? 4 pounds and counting. I'm trying to watch everything that goes into my pie hole- cross my heart. Robb is losing weight and giving it to me. Damn it! I do not want it. I realized while out with our friend Eric the other night that I was just eating away (salad) and should be full. I wasn't it. I laid my fork down and stopped. I think I could have kept on eating forever; ending with Eric's leftovers and Robb's too if I could get my hands on them.

I'm tired too and having a hard time focusing. There's laundry to do. There's work too. My "real" work I mean. I'm using post-it notes and my white board all the time. Which is good/normal but it would be more helpful if I read the notes I'm writing.

I'd think I was nutty as a fruitcake except my donor called and asked if pills were making me nauseous, tired, etc. When I called her back, I said something to the effect of, "Those f-ing pills are evil!"

Maybe it's worse because I'm older and have to use reading glasses. There must be some explanation.

97% of the time the Mister (I saw some other blogger who refers to her husband this way. I like it!) and I are still smiling and laughing. We did a lot of that just last night. He's such a good man. I'm lucky he understands all about the whoremoans. Bless him.