I've been lying low lately -I have been diagnosed with Graves disease and the medication is making me SO tired. That coupled with looking after the Bubby, the Puppy -and all the poop that comes with both of them. Plus dealing with the Hubby, when he gets home from work tired, and even though I've been running myself RAGGED, there's even more poop on the floor, the hubby is like, "Geez babe the place is a disaster, where have you been all day? You haven't cooked yet?!" If I open my mouth at all it would be to start screaming at the top of my lungs, but knowing that I would be unable to stop and probably end up in a straight jacket. So instead I calmly get up plod along wearily and keep myself sane, by planning a list in my head of things I would need to pack if I ever left the insensitive arsehole.

Then the hubby chips in and whips round the kitchen and it's effortlessly spotless - and I remember that actually I'm the luckiest person in the world. He might be an arsehole, but he's my arsehole. FEEL (Robbie Williams)

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