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I’m going through a mild case of ‘pitypause’ again.

Not to be confused with menopause – there are no night sweats, but mood swings are similar.

Pitypause comes and goes – symptoms include sadness, insomnia, unusual desire for cake and decreased desire for conversation.  Which, for this Chatty Cathy is quite eerie to those around me.

Yes, pitypause affects others.

There is a cure.

It’s called ‘Count-Your-Blessings’.  It’s effective 99.9% of the time.

I was in danger once more of losing my last marble this weekend.  So I took action!

The marbles I bought a while ago,  to replace the ones I lost during my last bout of pitypause, have been safely placed in a happy looking bottle.


I’m keeping a close eye on them .  I think it apropos to place them next to light.  My marbles need all the positive energy they can get.

If  someone you know is going through pitypause – be patient, offer an ear, a hug and push cake at them … from a safe distance.

Giggle Snaps


What is WRONG with me?  Since Friday I’ve been on a roller coaster of moods. 

Went from snapping at anything that dared to cut its eyes at me (inanimate objects included) to breathlessly laughing with my son.

Had flashbacks today of some of that laughter – which brought about the giggles at my desk.  Of course, that also brought eyes upon me and when they saw my screen was displaying something as mundane as the VA web portal, I’m sure they wondered whether or not they had a sane person in the helm of the loan ship.

I must have seemed a teeny bit demented.

Then I’m driving home today and started thinking about Christmas, the ever working in overdrive tangent part of my brain kicked a metaphor into my head, so now I’m maniacally laughing while driving at this thought:

My sex life (past tense as I am now in a self-induced celibate state) was much like a Christmas gift.  You know, the one you got that you give the mock ‘Oh!” eyes to, so you don’t hurt the gift givers feelings?  The one you politely smile at and say ‘thank you’ – all the while knowing you’re going to have to take responsibility for giving the gift you really wanted to yourself. My fault really for never telling Santa what I really wanted.

Left a scathing message for an Account Executive today after speaking to what seemed like a Rue 21 associate at their headquarters.  Did they want our business or not?  If so, assign a damn professional person to answer the phone with wanting to help coursing through their veins. 

I won’t even go into Sunday’s escapades – suffice it to say, when I want a burger, I WANT A BURGER and the mere fact that it’s 10:15 should NOT be an obstacle.  I think I scared my son.  He mentioned we really needed to get food into me.  He’s used to peace/love/compassion/tolerant mom.  Not mood swing mom. 

I’d blame all this on PMS, but apparently the male scientists have proven that doesn’t actually exist.  So I’ll blame it on the fact that I’m a Gemini.