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Bookends, Jane Green

I don't know why I'm reading this, honestly. Not to slag this author, but I really, really hated the one other book of hers that I've read (Jemima J). So far, I'm not much liking this one either.

Check out:

Wow, I never would have thought I'd want one, but the DIY duct tape wallet is pretty cool.


Tragically, their love was Forbidden.

Friday, March 25, 2005

I spent some quality time today with my snout buried in our office employee manual, trying to understand Workplace's maternity leave policy. After some emailing to clarify, I discovered it breaks down like this: Workplace gives me 12 weeks of leave. Of that time, 20 days are paid - after those 20 days, in order to keep my insurance coverage I have to pay for it myself.

I'm lucky in that JB's company plan covers me, if I don't qualify for my own primary insurance. I'll probably switch to his coverage anyway, if I decide to work part-time after the leave, in which case I doubt I'd be able to get Workplace insurance at all. If I were a single parent, though, and had to pay for my healthcare during my leave, that would be around $700 per month for me and my child. That doesn't seem like something many people could easily do, does it? You're drawing no paycheck, and expenses are already running high - but it's not like you can just hope neither of you needs a doctor for two months, either.

I've never had occasion to wonder about maternity policies at previous companies, so I don't know how this benefit measures up (except I do know JB gets more paid leave than I do; then again, he works for a Giant International Software Conglomerate and I work for Some Guy). I'd be interested to know how your company handles it.


More random pregnancy symptoms to add to my list:

Stuffy, snortley nose.
Snerk. Snkkk! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAT. Etc. My nose is always sniffly, or stuffed up, or Just Plain Boogery. While I haven't had any outright nosebleeds, the output from my juicy Kleenex blasts is usually a little on the gory side, too. It's all perfectly normal, according to the pregnancy books. Blah blah increased bloodflow blah SNRT.

Um, "moisture".
Let's just casually drop the word "secretions" and then briskly walk away from this one, okay?

I am really, really absentminded. To the point where I do a quick mirror check before leaving the house to make sure I'm actually wearing the correct amount of clothing and I haven't applied lipstick to my forehead. I can't concentrate on anything, I feel like I have the attention of a fruit fly. You know that whole we-only-use-2-percent-of-our-brain thing, well now would be a GREAT time for that unused cranial goo to kick in, so I don't have to worry about the fact that my shirt is buttoned wrong and I can't remember my middle name and did I just take the wrong exit? and how do you spell "restaurant" again, and so on.


I really miss JB.

He's coming back on Sunday, not a day too soon. I hate coming home from a dreary day at work and having no company, except the pets, whose conversational skills are far surpassed by their rectum-licking abilities. I need someone to yell at the TV with me when they show those pious, bible-waving assholes camped outside of poor Terry Shiavo's hospice, carrying their little cups of holy water. I want a warm back to curl against when I come back from my fifty-seventh zombielike trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I miss his voice, his laughter, and even those horrible songs he sings all the time. Even his whistling. Hurry home, baby!

PS. I ate all your english muffins.

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