A SAD state of affairs

Y'know, I thought I was basically done with getting worn down by the miserable English winters, but apparently not. It's just so dark. And gloomy. And cold. And really there's nothing to be done in weather like this but hide under the duvet, right? Right. So it's not so much that I'm depressed, as just moochy, and struggling to get anything done. It does seem to be worse this year than usual... I blame hormones. Am so very jealous of everyone heading south for the winter. (Although when that results in Milo slabs for me, well, it's not so bad.)

Well I swear

Gentle reader, it has been brought to my attention of late that I am perhaps... well... a bit of a pottymouth.

Last night Beloved and I had a fight. It wasn't any big deal, only with the pregnancy hormones and all, it did get entertainingly noisy. (Very entertaining, apparently, as around the time I was yelling and sobbing, he was laughing helplessly. Apparently my tantrums are "adorable" and I look "like a little girl who's lost her lollipop". Now, it's probably a good thing that he finds all this endearing rather than, y'know, horrible and unlovable, and the laughter was accompanied by hugs, but still, I'm not sure how I feel about it. Anyway.) So afterwards, he mentioned hesitantly: "...you do swear quite a lot when you're angry."

Well really. Isn't that the whole point of swearing? Shouldn't I be entitled to access the full range of human expression in moments of extremity?

But then I started thinking about my good friend Vivaldifan, whose employer has enlisted a rather stern spam-blocking service that puts all emails containing certain questionable vocabulary in quarantine. Apparently the profanitybot has taken a particularly strong dislike to me. I casually asked t'other day which of his friends got caught in spammy limbo most often. His answer: "Totally you, sailor."

Fancy that! I always thought that the reason people sometimes looked, well, a bit startled at my more colourful imprecations was that they didn't expect anything remotely earthy from someone looking quite so pre-Raphaelite. ("Sweetness and light and daisies" is apparently the impression I give, as long as I don't open that delicate mouth.) But maybe it's not just the exciting contrast that gives pause. Maybe I should actually try to be a little bit more ladylike in my discourse.

What do you think? Should I swear off the swearing? I mean, not entirely, that would never work. But as a creative challenge. I dunno. Do I really cuss that much?

Huh.

Briefly interrupting pregnancy-free blogging to say

...lady, I realise that your intentions are honourable, but sending a slew of diet-and-exercise-for-pregnant-ladies and plus-sized-and-pregnant links - after commenting on how I am getting rather "round about the hips" - is really not the way to keep me away from the cookie jar, okay?

Grrr.

Sorry about that. The problem with limiting all sprog blogging to the sprog blog is that, well, the sprog blog is open to the public. Meaning, the in-laws. Meaning, the offending party.

Who just spent 2 weeks as our houseguest, doing most of the cooking, and doing it with vast - VAST - amounts of bacon and double cream, just by the way. Not that I'm complaining. Well, not about the cooking.

Goodbye Harvey.

My handsome boy got sick.



Then he seemed to be getting better. Then he got sicker again.



Turns out, he was only faking. He's been doing a pretty good impression of a healthy cat, but it was only an impression. Eventually, time came for his kidneys to pack it in entirely. So we took him off to the vet yesterday and sent him to that happy mouse hunting ground in the sky... or maybe, this being Harvey, to that giant cushy lap, where he is forever being hand-fed delicious terrine of free-range Patagonian mouse livers. Or something.



My lap will be a much colder place now.