Queue the tiny violins, it's pity party time! I almost punched a wall today. I was stalked by hospital security. I almost bawled in in the child care information services office. I accidentally ran two red lights (if you run the first, you pretty much have to run the second). I literally tore out some of my hair today. I screamed like a crazy woman at a motorist who refused to acknowledge the rules of ped-x'ing. Today sucks. Why can't things ever just be easy, just work the hell out?
It takes an enormous amount to get me mad enough to want to punch things, particularly brick hospital walls. But everything crappy always seems to happen at the same time. It can't just be spaced out with warning, like "hey, here's something crappy, and something else crappy is coming right around the corner, but we'll give you a few days to deal with this crappy thing before slamming you in the face with the other." No, that would make things easier, and apparently the gods decided long ago that it is just too much fun to fuck with me. I'm like their little yo-yo, or one of those paddle balls, and they're just waiting to see how much I can take before my string snaps.
But I'm eerily calm right now. Everything will be fine. It's not like I can just give up, walk away from my child, ignore all my responsibilities, have someone else buy everything for me, and drink myself stupid or anything. No good person could. So I'm good. Pity party over. Life will be fine. I'll sell parts of my soul or something to pay for daycare, I'll try not to scream out "this place is a fucking trainwreck!" in the middle of the hospital anymore, and I'll try to be more careful about red lights. I can't promise not to scream about people who don't let you cross at crosswalks, because they just royally piss me off.
Pity party over. It's almost nighttime. I really love nighttime.
1 comment:
Love you Nik.
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