You do your time. Don't let your time do you.

Maybe I'm sleep deprived and pissed off because my scabby elbow itches and stings constantly. Maybe I'm pissed off that the Chase credit people keep calling me. Maybe I'm cranky because my wearable wardrobe has been reduced to stretchy yoga pants and big t shirts. Whatever the reason, I was in a very foul mood this morning. I yelled at my daughter and I felt incredibly guilty about it. My husband started nagging me about not flushing the toilet after I pee so I started crying. Maybe I'm genuinely depressed. I haven't felt great the past six months because I'm stuck in this town that I hate and while I love being a mom, I feel isolated and bored most of the time.

So Adam took Kimmy to the park and I decided to suck it up and get ready to go grocery shopping. I took a quality bath and got ready. Then while I was waiting for them to get home and watching "Locked Up Abroad" on the National Geographic channel, I heard a great piece of uplifting advice from a one time American inmate of a Korean prison. He said that while he served his sentence (I think is was 2 or 3 years) he did his best to make the most of it by reading, writing, and doing yoga because someone had told him, "You do your time, don't let your time do you." Although I wouldn't go so far as to say I feel like I'm in a Korean prison, I definitely am not where I want to be in life and my Negative Nancy attitude isn't helping.

On my way to Wal Mart I ruminated on that little nugget. Do your time. Don't let it do you. I decided to make a conscious effort to be more positive and less melodramatic. I need to exercise more, read and write more, and figure out something to look forward to. I was feeling better about things once I got to the store and even more so once I overheard a lady on her cell phone. Here's a snippet:

"I don't care! You don't need to be out til 5 or 6 AM when you have five kids at home! I couldn't sleep all night cuz I was fuckin worried!"

At the risk of making it obvious that I was eavesdropping, I slowed my pace in hopes of hearing more, but alas, the shitty parent on the other end of the phone must have had a lot to say in his or her defense, so I kept walking and missed out. Thanks lady, that made me feel better about my parenting capabilities. I may lose my patience and yell sometimes, I may be tempted to drink myself into a black out (which I've never done. I haven't had a drink since before I got pregnant), and my daughter may have just uttered her first curse word the other night when I set of the smoke detector -- but I've never stayed out til 5 or 6 am. So I've got that going for me.

Oh, the thing about the curse word! Well, if I am cooking something and the recipe says to bake it for 20 minutes at 425 degrees, I have to adjust the time and temperature for my oven on HGH. So I was trying to cook some chicken at 300 degrees and when I opened the oven after 15 minutes to check on it, the breading was charred black and smoke billowed out, which set off the smoke detector. Kimmy ran into the kitchen and yelled "Fuck!" about five times until I got the screeching alarm off. Great, she's going to be that hillbilly kid in preschool who cusses and gets in trouble, even though it's mine and Adam's fault she's picking up such horrible language.

I'm going to put on some sweat pants and eat some shrimp tacos from Chacho's.