Sometimes you might be on the verge of tears and call someone so that you can yell and swear about all sorts of minor injustices which might be magnified because your body is about to slough off your uterine lining.
And, instead of telling you to suck it up, that person might send you your favorite flowers.
And then later you might have a bacon-lettuce-tomato-avocado sandwich and potato chips and a pickle and a cherry Italian soda, followed by an hour and a half of nothing but fiddling, and you realize that the world is okay (until you read about the 3 shootings in 1 day that killed 5 people in North St. Louis – seriously, that is crazy shit).
Also, sometimes Keetah might like to pick out her own toys.
ONE MORE DAY! (and part of another one, but who’s counting?)