I’ve got all of these niggling little chores to get done which separately amount to nothing, but together remain this insurmountable pile which looks big and scary from back here.

And my mother and I are butting heads about how to deal with the theft; she’s inclined to “let the police do their jobs” and I’m of the mind to go around to all the pawn shops and at the very least try to get the engagement rings back. She seems to have this fantasy in her head that I will walk in right when the thieves are pawning her loot, they’ll get wise to me, follow me home and kill me or something.

Okay, let’s review: stupid, stupid thieves took jewelry that they will be unable to hock in pawn shops because most of it is silver. Also, stupid, stupid thieves took stuff that was worthless compared to other stuff sitting right in front of them. Plus, they will try to get in and out of pawn shops without looking shady themselves–in the extremely unlikely event that I ever saw one of them, why the hell would they know who I am? Because they stole family photos and have been studying them for just such an event? Yup.

Anyway, she’s all wound up about it. And taking her own sweet time filling out the police report–I think because as soon as she finishes filling it out, I want a copy with the appraisals of the ring to go around to shops looking for stuff. No, that’s not why she’s dawdling, but damn! It’s buggin’ the crap out of me.

And the bun is still growing apace, or that’s what I hear. I don’t look much different; maybe slightly paunchy, but not really. Mostly I look wan and sickly. That’s that pregnancy glow I’ve heard so much about, it must be!

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