I friggin' hate tamoxifen. And, yes, this is another post about how I hate tamoxifen. The regular migraines. The weight gain despite eating less. The irritability.
OH THE IRRITABILITY. (On the other hand, it's not too much to ask that all the laundry - the socks, the underwear, the pants the swimsuits and the sweatshirts don't all go in the same drawer. I think most people have a reasonable expectation, and expedite in practice, the theory that separate items of clothing belong in separate drawers.)
My poor family. There is nothing NOTHING they can say to me right now that is going to be a reasonable statement, comment, or question. Because my hair looks terrible and I am very tired. Ten hours just doesn't cut it anymore. Also I want to petition right now that synchronized diving is no longer an olympic sport. If that can be an olympic sport then so can Zumba.
And my poor son. Never in his eleven years has he ever once been prepared for school or summer camp the night before. But today, for the first time ever, I snapped at him about it. (That being said, it's good to know he can be scared of me. That could come in handy in a few years.)
Anyway, my husband wants me to stop taking this drug. I DON'T KNOW WHY HE CAN'T JUST BE FRIGGIN HAPPY THAT I AM DOING THIS SO HE HAS A BETTER CHANCE OF HAVING ME AROUND FOR LONGER.