Editor's Note:  I wrote this last week (Friday morning) but never published it because I thought it was too ridiculous to share.  However, given my current state of distress and emotional instability (who me?), this post sounds downright sensible.  Now that's just plain scary.


Okay, I should just be moving on.

That's what David says.  But I'm a fusser.  And I fuss the most with myself.  And I just can't seem to let things be.

Last night went okay.  I'm sure you're all dying to know. 

I had several dreams about the talk before the actual talk and in some of them it went okay and in some of them it was not so good and in some of them I was naked.

Last night I did manage to remember my dress.

Although I did forget my slip and perhaps that was the problem right there.  It was a half-dressed talk.  It could have been worse.  Naked definitely would have been worse.  But it could have been better. 

Yesterday Caleb said, "So are you ready for your talk?"

I said, "Sort of."

He said, "So that means you're done writing it, but you don't like it?"

I looked out the car window and nodded.

He said, "I thought so."

And so I want to know how can a person like me be allowed to raise human beings.  I'm only half-dressed myself.

Last night when I came home and tearily explained how it went to David he asked me how long it had been since I had eaten.  Seriously, it must by trying to be married to a half-crazy, half-dressed girl with blood sugar issues. 

Add all that to a few half-baked ideas about humanure and space station trusses made of buckypaper, and you've really got yourself a mess.