• Is it just me, or is eating at Subway just a little too close to actually having to make your own sandwich? I really don’t want to have to ponder and respond to questions about Every. Single. Ingredient. on my goddamn sandwich. And you can’t really say “everything” because they have, like, seventeen different sauces now. I resent having to talk to my “sandwich artist” for that long just to get a crappy sub.
  • My face is breaking out. My shoulders and back are also breaking out–thankfully, much worse than my face. I need a haircut and  a new dye job–my hair looks like crap. I’m still in that stage where I just look thick, not pregnant. Overall, I am not looking so hot. So much for the “pregnant glow”. What-the-fuck-ever.
  • My raging appetite is starting to die down a little bit. I’m still eating enormous quantities of food all day, but I’m doing it with a little less desperation now. Which would be good, except that, for the first time in three months, I have no idea what I want for dinner. That’s disturbing.
  • Oh, and about food? Delivery options in this city *suck*. I got completely spoiled in East Coast Town by this amazing service that lets you view and order from menus of pretty much any restaurant in the area. So many options! And being able to order without ever speaking to a human! Here, though, not only do we not have that, but delivery options are few and not so great. Or maybe there are better places, and I just don’t know where they are.
  • My point is that I don’t know what I want to eat, and I want someone to bring it to me.
  • Since GB’s been working these insanely long days, I’ve been in charge of dinner every night. It’s reasonable enough, since the poor guy gets home close to 9pm and is starving, and I pretty much just sit here and eat all day long anyway. So it’s okay, that I’m doing dinner. Except that we only have a couple of meals that we regularly eat since neither of us cooks at all, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t disturb me to realize how often I actually *am* barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen.
  • I thought I was making pretty good progress with this chapter. I’d gotten to where I only had a couple of places to add some things, and I thought it would be ready to go to The Advisor in the next couple of days. But. Then I looked at the whole damn thing and realized that a) it’s probably about half as long as it should be to look like a quasi-respectable chapter, and b) there is virtually no theory or analysis of any kind in it. To rectify problem B, I think I’m going to have to actually read a couple more books. Which I so do not want to do, at this point in the game, for this chapter.
  • I’m starting to despair of my chances of finishing two chapter drafts by the end of December. Which, you’ll recall, is necessary if I want a completion fellowship for next year. Which, oh my god, I really, really do.
  • I had no idea I was this cranky.