Zepplin is totally fucking deep.

I'm trying to grow my hair long. I was driving towards the promise of Chinese food at my mom's house after work tonight, staring at the Tennessee license plates on the car in front of me, wondering how long my hair will be by the time I actually manage to have a baby. No warning, Stairway to Heaven came on the radio and I had an epiphany. I work for a doctor and Tony works at a bookstore. We have no education, no trade experience. We're buying a house. Having a baby. There's going to be no time left for college or trade school. I can brag about my childhood all I want - the Good Jobs will not accept the fact that I was doing pre-calc at eight years old and reading Les Miserables in fifth grade in lieu of a diploma. We are screwed. Panic! What kind of vitamins can I take to make my baby's brain super-healthy? I need to give birth to a super-genius - one who will invent the new Internet/ cure for cancer/ home-hair-cutting-device that actually works at the age of twenty or younger in order to support her uneducated, underpaid parents. And then: Shit! When am I going to lose weight? If I have a baby now, I will never be thin again! I've missed my chance! Everything is fucked! Why does this baby want to destroy me?

Stairway ended. And then Taking Care of Business came on. I remembered that I am NOT pregnant and I'm NOT quite painted all the way into the corner yet. Mostly, I started thinking about Sesame chicken. Then I felt fine.

Also: No, we did not make an offer on the White Trash House. We made an offer on a nicer house a couple of miles down the road. And they've accepted. And we move in mid-December. I want to have a party, but I am afraid nobody will come. But. Some of the best parties I've ever been to only had me in attendance. So we shall see.