Who's the Bitch, NaBloPoMo?

I have been in transit from Vancouver to Ontario literally all day, first with the driving to the airport and the obligatory sitting around one's ass in the airport for way too long. (Checking in TWO HOURS before your departure for domestic flights: come now, is this really necessary? Really?) And then there's the flying with a squirmy toddler part. And then there's the job of driving an hour and half to our final destination, plus the added hour and a bit required for getting lost because Toronto's highway system is a fucking nightmare and hey, here's a thought, why not have the different highways start with numbers other than 4, huh?

So, four things:

1. My toe still hurts like a mofo, though, miraculously, no one dropped a large suitcase on it. (I like to see the glass all half full like that.)
2. Never having flown five hours whilst heavily pregnant before, I do not recommend it. Ow, my uterus!
3. My usual travel-related time confusion, in diabolical partnership with the recent daylight savings time switcheroo, has left me with a serious sense of temporal dislocation. Unless it actually IS next week already. Is it?
4. Just because this post is technically about nothing doesn't mean it doesn't count. (Or something like that. When I've got a bad case of the temporal dislocation, I tend to abuse the double negatives.)

And in conclusion, who's the bitch, NaBloPoMo? That's right. You are.