Me? Crazy?

I slept for a total of four hours last night: two not long after I went to bed and then two shortly before it was time to get up. In the interim, I lay there trying to ignore my throbbing hip and subconsciously listing every rare infant disease and malformation of which I am aware.

Some time around 3:30 I gave up and read for a little while. I should have just gotten up and made the damn pretzels I was going to make later. I also need to get a batch of strawberry-port jam made today--between a doctor's appointment, driving children, and tennis--for inclusion in the teachers' gift baskets, and I don't have the port I thought I had.

So I sent P an email to please bring a bottle of port to the sonogram appointment. I figured it was that or a visibly pregnant woman browsing a liquor store at 9 in the morning, and since both of those scenarios involve raised eyebrows I'll just let him look weird wandering Crawford Long with a bottle of booze. CL is downtown; it won't be the first time someone wandered around in there with a bottle in paper sack.

In reference to the hip: for those who are curious, I am on a decreasing dose of my pain medication that sometimes makes me achy and twitchy. Since it makes my joins ache, that exacerbates the hip pain, which otherwise is not as severe as it was prior to this course of treatment that is being discontinued. Didja follow that? I have good days and bad days, as expected. We're in the midst of a chilly weather snap with rain, after a stretch of hot, dry days, and that also stiffens me up a bit.

Adventures in sonography

My God, sonograms have come a long way even in the 5 years since I had one with Ez. Those of you planning a baby in the next couple of years will be able to see hair and eye color, I swear.

( It's a... )

Psychos and nuts and sickos, oh my.

I'll grant I watch entirely too many crime programs. Real crime, fake crime--I'm currently on a Criminal Minds kick, as they are running all the episodes in order on ION network at night and there are worse ways to go to sleep than watching Shemar Moore furrow his brow--crime documentaries, whatever. Pip claims my biggest obsession is bizarre diseases, but that's not necessarily true. I also have a thing about crime, and I've wondered why I didn't do something with that, something useful. (I have a thing with being aware of my own lack of usefulness, don't I? Yes, I know that.)

Sometimes, though, I watch these things and I wonder if sometimes there isn't some comfort in being the nutcase, the scariest person out there. If you know you're the sniper, does that provide some insulation from the evils of the world? Are you less likely to get mugged or burgled if you're the serial killer?

No, I'm not going on a spree or anything. Given my overdeveloped sense of justice and gruesome conscience I'd make a terrible criminal. I just wonder if people could lose their conscience first, or the conscience is a casualty of some more pragmatic motivation.