Life as a Spawner

I keep having these really awful, graphic nightmares, horror movie stuff.  There's always a lot of blood and visceral detail I won't get into. Stress much? You know, when the alcoholic goes through rehab, if you're like me, you go, "Oh things are going to be SO MUCH BETTER!" and then they discharge, and they are, and then you realize you live in the state I live in and you go, "Hey wait a minute, this isn't going to last - oh...man..." and BOOM everything goes to pot. Seriously.  Now, by no means was this anyone else's responsibility, but seriously, the recovery programs here are effed up.  You're still wrestling with the 'tude of, "I kin do et mahself," and really, sure, you can, if you want to drink your liver into a weapon of mass, blunt destruction (read: scarrify it).  But when you call ye auld rehab only to find out that the counselor that helped your husband was canned and so was the director of the place as expecte

It's been a whole 'ding dang' year since I posted something here. You know... It's interesting being a working mom in Appalachia, particularly  when you come across the client base of the veterinary clinic you work for.  I gotta say, if one more person explains to me the logic of using motor oil to treat their pooch's mange, I'm going to explain the logic of using turpentine to shave their balls. Moving on. The spawnlet is now a whopping 18 months old, has mastered her pterodactyl cry of doomy-doom, and has a mouth full of teeth.  After taking a year off to deal with my husband's alcoholism, because yes, I'm that special enabler, I'm back in the school game.  So I am: 40 hour workweek, 15 hour course load, infinite mommy. Oh my.  It's good times. I don't know how much commentary I'll have here, given my predisposition to paranoia.  I cain't be found out, y'all! Except I have...no followers.  So, not really that wor