I continue to go to the gym nearly every day. The scale hasn't budged so much as a pound but I can tell that I'm getting stronger. I had a fit-test analysis done when I began my membership and then another one month later, because I was burning out a little and, again, the scale wasn't budging. Well, if the gym's tape-measure analysis is to be believed, I dropped 5% body fat in a month. Pretty cool.

My smallish goal once I started my gym regimen was to learn how to run on the treadmill without falling off. Now I run on the 'mill nearly every time and I have yet to fall off (though I have accidentally tripped the “emergency stop” button a couple of times, which brings the damn thing to a screeching halt and, yes, is more than a bit of a buzzkill). Typically I run about three miles. Yesterday I started on the rowing machine — rowed 2000 meters in 9 minutes 40 seconds, and then got on the treadmill and ran 2.5 miles. Then I punished myself on a few of the strength machines before saying “screw it” and taking a nice, hot shower.

Today I have a callus and a bit of a rubbing blister from where my wedding bands rubbed against the palm of my left hand. So, yeah, I'm feeling pretty badass, and hardly sore at all!

My BFF, Fringes, is doing the National Blog Posting Month. It's kind of like National Novel Writing Month, but with a lower word count. Basically, bloggers are encouraged to write every day. While it would be spectacular to post 30 blog posts this month, I'm not going to go all crazy with it, but I will encourage myself to check in here more often than usual.

Yesterday was Halloween. The boys got a tremendous haul of candy — even MFM's physical therapist showed up with goody bags for them — and today the sugar hangover was powerful, indeed.

I couldn't sleep last night. This was due to a combination of factors: BK's cold, MFM's trying to wedge her walker into her half-bathroom around midnight, the shocking conclusion to this week's episode of The Walking Dead, and Kim Kardashian's failed marriage. Now, nobody who knows me in real life is surprised by my hatred of all things Kardashian — even the illustrious Bruce Jenner has dropped about 100 notches in my estimation — but this 72-day wedding after the $10-million hoopla makes me violently ill. E Online has been whoring this family out for years and I wonder whether they're a mite pissed off that Kim filed for divorce during the same month that they showed a two-night Kardashian Wedding Spectacular brouhaha. Or maybe they're happy because divorce = drama = good TV = happy advertisers.

The whole thing is sickening. The SF Chronicle posted a story about other celebrity marriages that quickly failed — Carmen Electra and Dennis Rodman's nuptials only lasted 10 days — but you know what? That doesn't make me feel better. Especially when so many people are screaming that same-gender marriage destroys the sanctity of the union. My friends Nicki and Emily have been married for six years and they're doing a lot more to promote the sanctity of wedded bliss than any cheap-ass cat-faced reality “star” did.

I wonder how many people who argue against gay marriage watched both nights of the Kardashian Wedding Spectacular.

I just had to tell my mom how to spell her name while she signed her voter registration application… should I really be mailing this to the Board of Elections? Or should it conveniently “get lost”?

Yeah, I mailed it. But only because by the time the presidential elections come around, corporations will get 100 votes for every resident, so her one vote won't matter. Right?

The good news is, I've been accepted into Dave Schwensen's Comedy Workshop: three Saturdays of comedy development, capped by a Wednesday-night, five-minute showcase at the Cleveland Improv. To say I'm stoked doesn't even begin to cover it. I'm particularly looking forward to developing some clean comedy, so I can take part in the coffeehouse open-mics which are much more in line with my bedtime.

Other good news: Monstro, the boys and I are going to California next month, where we'll see my dad and stepmother for the first time in over a year. I'm so eager for this I'm practically ready to start walking there.

And now for the rest of it. MFM got a wild hare last week and rushed out the front door without her walker and of course crashed to the ground. She didn't break anything but wrenched her right foot and has been in bed for the past five days, so I'm waiting on her hand-and-foot (no pun intended) and GD that's tiring. And, she just referred to my husband as “what's his name.” She will be staying in respite care while we're away; I'm really looking forward to the break. I'm tired.

We joined a gym last Sunday and I was there for seven consecutive days. They have childcare but not MFM-care, so I'm going whenever Monstro's schedule allows, as well as whenever the hired MFM-care is in place. It's nice having somewhere to go.

Well, since last I wrote, I have moved to Ohio, seen Niagara Falls, started one kid in Kindergarten, another in Preschool, sent Monstro off to his new job at Case Western Reserve University, renewed a friendship with a dearest friend from high school who also lives in the realm of our new home in Ohio (Cleveland area), hired and fired one home-health agency for MFM, hired a second agency (this one seems better, please cross your fingers), and have as of yet managed to stave off the nervous breakdown that's probably coming along any.minute.now.

So yeah, things are in flux and have changed but are mostly good. Except for MFM, who becomes a more unreliable narrator every day. Her diagnosis as of eight weeks ago is “Parkinson's dementia” and yes that's as crappy as it sounds, and it will likely only become crappier, so that, well, sucks.

Nevertheless I am moving forward, trying to find a little bit of work so I'm not exclusively providing care to MFM and the boys. I'd like to be doing some stand-up out here but so far all the ones I've found in bars don't start until 10 pm and the ones in coffee shops are in coffee shops were people are unlikely to be drunk and I'm unlikely to be allowed to be the blue-vulgar comic I am. So I'm working on some clean stuff, and have come up with a couple of bits, but for now they're being shared just in my notebook or Facebook.

Good news: the woman who came from the new home-health agency has a friend who is willing to watch my kids, so Monstro and I have a date night tonight. Too bad we don't have a van conversion. Which reminds me of BK's new favorite joke: What is the mouse's favorite game? Hide and squeak! Squeak squeak squeak!