Yesterday and today are completely funkified.  I’m a pathetic wreck, waiting while the novel is out on submission.  I’ve chewed my nails into oblivion:

I desperately need a pedicure. but have spa social phobia, too many language barriers.

I totally need to clean my house, but feel too overwhelmed, and don’t even know where to start:

I just keep rotating clean and dirty clothes from the piles, and stepping over all the kid crap in our living room.

Yesterday, I went to Target, and waded through the college mafia in denim shorts with suspenders and jeans that cut off ankle circulation.  I felt so lost, I actually stood in front of the Sound Scapes stations with all of the New Agey-Fake-Celtic CDs and pondered buying one.  You know something is really wrong if I leave Target spending less than one hundred dollars.  It was shocking.  But I did get these:

Anything cuter than baby converse?

This morning, I had to get an MRI. I have a weird genetic heart thing called bicuspid aortic valve.  I’m fine, they just check me regularly, and one day, might switch out the funky valve with part of a pig.  Weird, huh?  This guy was in the waiting room:

Creepy.

The day got better when I came home, and called a new author, Emma Rathbone for an interview about her debut novel, The Pattern Of Paper Monsters.  She was lovely, and I adored the book.  I will be posting an article about our conversation tomorrow.  Audrey got sneaky while I was talking, and found my coffee:

Can’t turn your head for a minute with that one.