holy froombonglies

I am going to start off by apologizing for my shameful neglect of you, Gentle Reader, over the last few weeks days. Rest assured that you haven't missed out on any especially entertaining shenanigans, unless you really want to hear about horrible cramps of abdomen-shattering death.

You don't? Good.

So, anyway, the Flubbulous Platypus is down to 143 pounds! Hooray and rejoicing! Okay, last night the scale said 146, this morning it said 143 again...what is up with that nonsense? Water weight? Was I exercising in my sleep? Have I stumbled upon a brilliant way to lose weight while snoozing my happy little head off?! (insert hopeful face here)

Somehow, I think Mr. Platypus is correct when he says it has to do with water weight. (Although I hadn't gone to the bathroom in between weigh-ins, so who knows.) Whatever the explanation, the nice low number on the scale this morning kind of mitigates the silly drama of the past two days.

See, I turn into (more of) a complete and utter psycho when Mother Nature brings the monthly horrendous torture gift (oh, how I HATE those commercials!). This usually entails moodiness, crying jags, et cetera and so forth. Apparently, this time around came with the bonus prize of panic attacks. Whoopee! I am so thrilled that I can hardly stand it! I got the joy of spending most of the past two evenings/nights crying my head off and feeling like I was about to implode and explode all at once. Such wonderful fun we are having here, I tell you!

Le sigh. This too shall pass.

Anyway, you need to go to your local library and pick up a copy of Robert Heinlein's The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress right this very minute. For serious. I'll wait.

Are you back now? Good! Because this book? This book is made of 100% professional-grade awesome. Admittedly, I am a) halfway through it, and b) a diehard Heinlein fan. Still and all, it's a good read. Mike, the self-aware computer, is simultaneously hilariously funny and enormously thought-provoking. (Also, he totally makes me wish that my computer could talk and be my friend, because then we would have awesome adventures together. Oh, and we could totally annoy Mr. Platypus by having contests to see who could sing the most annoying song. That would be epic.) (Except that my computer would probably be a crotchety old jerk. Hee hee, I said "crotch". Ahem.) I don't ordinarily go for political novels, but Heinlein showed a very deft hand for making a point without belaboring it.

At any rate, that's going to about do it for my useless yammering until I get back from work. I require another cup of coffee. Vaya con quesadillas!