So that's just...yeah...well
Life can be and has been worse and it's important to remember that at times like these. And when I say "times like these" I mean weeks were I gleefully contemplate climbing on top of buildings with a paintball gun and some Cheezits.
Yesterday I told the boss to go back to his office where he would be out of arm's reach.
Yesterday was Bad.
Oh, but I haven't set the scene for you yet. Hang on. Little Bastard (formerly Jude) keeps stepping on the mouse buttons.
Monday morning, 7am, the phone rings. I get out of bed and hurry to the phone bleary eyed and half asleep. It's Jake. Some guy ran a red light and hit Mike's car. Everyone was fine. No one was going fast enough for airbags, but the car isn't going to make it to school and the police are there. "I'm on my way," I said then proceeded in hyper speed to get clean, dressed, and out the door. Unfortunately, I can't understand why I'm so bleary eyed. Yeah, I woke up suddenly, but surely I should be able to see my clothes in my closet. It took me five minutes to realize I wasn't wearing my glasses. I put my glasses on and the rest of my morning routine went as smoothly as could be expected when I hadn't even gotten to hit the snooze bar once.
The accident was only 3 blocks from our house. I found them. The other drive, fearing for his life now that Mommy had arrived, apologized profusely in front of the cop repeating over and over "I didn't realize the light changed." No question at all who was at fault. Everybody had insurance. No one needed to go to the doctor. I calmed everyone's fears by not threatening to shove anyone's head up anyone else's ass. We all went on our way. Mike and Jake to school, me to work 45 fucking minutes early. Ugh.
Still Monday, for a Monday, wasn't bad. I went to the Y, exercised in the pool for a bit, chilled in the hot tub for a bit, had dinner, played Facebook games (yes, I already fell off the wagon), watched TV went to bed early because I was Drained.
Tuesday, no car for the kids so I'm up at 7am again, but this time I put my glasses on before I got ready. Work was hectic. Work was hard. We're switching accounting programs so I have to do everything twice and the new program isn't set up completely yet so it's hard. Made my brain hurt *pouts*. I worked until 8pm then decided I could finish the next day.
I thought it was Thursday all day on Tuesday and was sorely disappointed when Wednesday at 7am I was once again taking the kids to school. I won't lie to you, Marge, this shit is already old. I went to Kroger and got some comfort foods (Nutty Bars and Cheezits) thinking it would be a good idea not to get to work so early everyday. The boss will start expecting me to be on time or some such craziness.
Also already old - doing stuff twice. I have a gigantic pile of work to do and no desire to do it. Every few minutes something new falls apart. I decide to go home for lunch. The cats are waiting at the door. I couldn't even open the door because Little Bastard was leaning against it. No one had filled their food bowls before we left. Little Bastard was trying to keep me out because he'd been having a trash can feast like no other all over the kitchen floor. Cleaned that up, ate...something it was that memorable and tasty, looked down to see Mike had left their drama club money on his desk. I called work told them I would be late getting back from lunch because I had to run by the high school. I dropped off the money and rushed rushed rushed back to the office.
"The copy machine and the fax machine broke while you were gone. You need to call someone to repair them," the coworker who knows how to use the phone better than any ten people I know and has no business telling me how to pick my nose let alone to call someone to fix office machines smugly informed me when I walked in the door.
Now, normally, it's just a matter of clearing the paper jam in some easy and obvious manner, but no. I have more work to do than I've ever had to do in the history of my working there and I'm elbow deep in the copy machine. You see the boss got mad and tried to "fix" the copy machine in the manner of all men - he yanked as hard as he could and left chunks of paper stuck in the doc feeder. Then the coworker added her expertise and broke the drum yanking it out of the machine then ripped out every graspable sliver of paper making it impossible to get any more of the paper out. I did everything I could, but the copy machine was pronounced dead at 1424 hours. The fax machine only needed to be cleaned so my Honorary Scotty "Miracle Worker" Title is still intact.
Still if they'd left the copy machine the fuck alone until I got back from lunch I wouldn't have to be listening to complaints about how slow the ink jet printers are. Like I got time on my hands? Would someone get Fabian here away from me? (bonus points for the one who can tell me what movie that's from)
To make a long story short (TOO LATE) the day started in Hell and got worse. I spent the entire day when I wasn't doing my job twice and doing CPR on the photocopier talking to my ex-husband about Mike's accident. The police office made a mistake on the accident report. We found that out AFTER I BOUGHT the accident report because his insurance agent didn't want to buy it and he couldn't because "they don't take credit cards over the phone" (they do). On pages 1, 3, & 4 Mike was listed as driver #2. On page 2, Mike's narrative was listed as driver #1. Driver #1 was at fault. It says it on every page therefore the insurance companies (both the ex's and the other guy's company) are blaming Mike for the accident and therefore not paying anything. The narratives are obviously switched because Mike was southbound and the other was eastbound, but since the driver numbers are switched on ONE PAGE OUT OF FOUR it's too difficult for these idiots to comprehend....
Sorry I'm getting worked up again. I've tried calling the police to get the report corrected, but the officer hasn't worked since Monday.
Anyway, by the time Jake called to be picked up at drama club I was ready to blow. Mike didn't show up at the car by the time Jake got his seatbelt on so I left him at school. He called to be picked up as soon as I had my shoes off at home. I was not pleased and told him to walk. Me being me though I put my shoes back on and went to pick him up with the warning that I wasn't making two trips again.
I went to the store and bought two loaves of bread and a bag of hamburger buns. I didn't put them away immediately. Little Bastard ripped into the buns and one loaf of bread and had a little picnic while I was getting Mike. See why his name got changed? (that's not the only reason, he also farts so much and so vilely he'd make a bulldog envious, then there's his need to play at 2am with everyone and everything he can wake up).
I was ready to cry and I missed my bathtub. I locked Mike and Jake out of their bathroom for three hours (one hour to clean it, 2 for what passes for a bubble bath these days). I read most of a book and listened to music. At the end of the 3 hours, I was feeling almost human again.
I don't know how I'm going to survive until Mike gets another car (if he gets another car). I need a vacation, but I think I'm going to have to get a second job instead. I've only got one week of vacation to last me until July unless I can talk the boss into switching to vacation renewing for everyone in January.
Stressed out Kim is stressed out.
My fridge is dying. The taps in the boys' bathroom are leaking. The oil in my car needs to be changed. The cat is sitting next to me farting, but he's purring so I feel bad about kicking him off the bed.
Still, it could be worse. Mike could have gotten t-boned instead of hitting the front of the other car. The fridge could already be dead. Bread isn't expensive. My nose is stuffed up so I can't smell the farts as much.
NaNo starts:
I just hope I'm not too stressed out to do it this year. That's what happened last year. I couldn't stop thinking about the stupid furnace that I only owned for six months and I'm still paying for. This year I have new worries, but I want so much to win again. I have a story I want to tell and I need an escape.
Fiction is such a good place to escape to. It only rains when essential to the plot. The guys are always hot and the Mary Sue is always cool. Ice cream doesn't make you fat in a book. The lottery is winnable. Heroes think cellulite is sexy and wrinkles add character to a woman's face. Cats don't fart in a book and if they do it's only to add comic relief to a tense situation.
Damn cat.
Sweet dreams. Bedtime at last.
Yesterday I told the boss to go back to his office where he would be out of arm's reach.
Yesterday was Bad.
Oh, but I haven't set the scene for you yet. Hang on. Little Bastard (formerly Jude) keeps stepping on the mouse buttons.
Monday morning, 7am, the phone rings. I get out of bed and hurry to the phone bleary eyed and half asleep. It's Jake. Some guy ran a red light and hit Mike's car. Everyone was fine. No one was going fast enough for airbags, but the car isn't going to make it to school and the police are there. "I'm on my way," I said then proceeded in hyper speed to get clean, dressed, and out the door. Unfortunately, I can't understand why I'm so bleary eyed. Yeah, I woke up suddenly, but surely I should be able to see my clothes in my closet. It took me five minutes to realize I wasn't wearing my glasses. I put my glasses on and the rest of my morning routine went as smoothly as could be expected when I hadn't even gotten to hit the snooze bar once.
The accident was only 3 blocks from our house. I found them. The other drive, fearing for his life now that Mommy had arrived, apologized profusely in front of the cop repeating over and over "I didn't realize the light changed." No question at all who was at fault. Everybody had insurance. No one needed to go to the doctor. I calmed everyone's fears by not threatening to shove anyone's head up anyone else's ass. We all went on our way. Mike and Jake to school, me to work 45 fucking minutes early. Ugh.
Still Monday, for a Monday, wasn't bad. I went to the Y, exercised in the pool for a bit, chilled in the hot tub for a bit, had dinner, played Facebook games (yes, I already fell off the wagon), watched TV went to bed early because I was Drained.
Tuesday, no car for the kids so I'm up at 7am again, but this time I put my glasses on before I got ready. Work was hectic. Work was hard. We're switching accounting programs so I have to do everything twice and the new program isn't set up completely yet so it's hard. Made my brain hurt *pouts*. I worked until 8pm then decided I could finish the next day.
I thought it was Thursday all day on Tuesday and was sorely disappointed when Wednesday at 7am I was once again taking the kids to school. I won't lie to you, Marge, this shit is already old. I went to Kroger and got some comfort foods (Nutty Bars and Cheezits) thinking it would be a good idea not to get to work so early everyday. The boss will start expecting me to be on time or some such craziness.
Also already old - doing stuff twice. I have a gigantic pile of work to do and no desire to do it. Every few minutes something new falls apart. I decide to go home for lunch. The cats are waiting at the door. I couldn't even open the door because Little Bastard was leaning against it. No one had filled their food bowls before we left. Little Bastard was trying to keep me out because he'd been having a trash can feast like no other all over the kitchen floor. Cleaned that up, ate...something it was that memorable and tasty, looked down to see Mike had left their drama club money on his desk. I called work told them I would be late getting back from lunch because I had to run by the high school. I dropped off the money and rushed rushed rushed back to the office.
"The copy machine and the fax machine broke while you were gone. You need to call someone to repair them," the coworker who knows how to use the phone better than any ten people I know and has no business telling me how to pick my nose let alone to call someone to fix office machines smugly informed me when I walked in the door.
Now, normally, it's just a matter of clearing the paper jam in some easy and obvious manner, but no. I have more work to do than I've ever had to do in the history of my working there and I'm elbow deep in the copy machine. You see the boss got mad and tried to "fix" the copy machine in the manner of all men - he yanked as hard as he could and left chunks of paper stuck in the doc feeder. Then the coworker added her expertise and broke the drum yanking it out of the machine then ripped out every graspable sliver of paper making it impossible to get any more of the paper out. I did everything I could, but the copy machine was pronounced dead at 1424 hours. The fax machine only needed to be cleaned so my Honorary Scotty "Miracle Worker" Title is still intact.
Still if they'd left the copy machine the fuck alone until I got back from lunch I wouldn't have to be listening to complaints about how slow the ink jet printers are. Like I got time on my hands? Would someone get Fabian here away from me? (bonus points for the one who can tell me what movie that's from)
To make a long story short (TOO LATE) the day started in Hell and got worse. I spent the entire day when I wasn't doing my job twice and doing CPR on the photocopier talking to my ex-husband about Mike's accident. The police office made a mistake on the accident report. We found that out AFTER I BOUGHT the accident report because his insurance agent didn't want to buy it and he couldn't because "they don't take credit cards over the phone" (they do). On pages 1, 3, & 4 Mike was listed as driver #2. On page 2, Mike's narrative was listed as driver #1. Driver #1 was at fault. It says it on every page therefore the insurance companies (both the ex's and the other guy's company) are blaming Mike for the accident and therefore not paying anything. The narratives are obviously switched because Mike was southbound and the other was eastbound, but since the driver numbers are switched on ONE PAGE OUT OF FOUR it's too difficult for these idiots to comprehend....
Sorry I'm getting worked up again. I've tried calling the police to get the report corrected, but the officer hasn't worked since Monday.
Anyway, by the time Jake called to be picked up at drama club I was ready to blow. Mike didn't show up at the car by the time Jake got his seatbelt on so I left him at school. He called to be picked up as soon as I had my shoes off at home. I was not pleased and told him to walk. Me being me though I put my shoes back on and went to pick him up with the warning that I wasn't making two trips again.
I went to the store and bought two loaves of bread and a bag of hamburger buns. I didn't put them away immediately. Little Bastard ripped into the buns and one loaf of bread and had a little picnic while I was getting Mike. See why his name got changed? (that's not the only reason, he also farts so much and so vilely he'd make a bulldog envious, then there's his need to play at 2am with everyone and everything he can wake up).
I was ready to cry and I missed my bathtub. I locked Mike and Jake out of their bathroom for three hours (one hour to clean it, 2 for what passes for a bubble bath these days). I read most of a book and listened to music. At the end of the 3 hours, I was feeling almost human again.
I don't know how I'm going to survive until Mike gets another car (if he gets another car). I need a vacation, but I think I'm going to have to get a second job instead. I've only got one week of vacation to last me until July unless I can talk the boss into switching to vacation renewing for everyone in January.
Stressed out Kim is stressed out.
My fridge is dying. The taps in the boys' bathroom are leaking. The oil in my car needs to be changed. The cat is sitting next to me farting, but he's purring so I feel bad about kicking him off the bed.
Still, it could be worse. Mike could have gotten t-boned instead of hitting the front of the other car. The fridge could already be dead. Bread isn't expensive. My nose is stuffed up so I can't smell the farts as much.
NaNo starts:
I just hope I'm not too stressed out to do it this year. That's what happened last year. I couldn't stop thinking about the stupid furnace that I only owned for six months and I'm still paying for. This year I have new worries, but I want so much to win again. I have a story I want to tell and I need an escape.
Fiction is such a good place to escape to. It only rains when essential to the plot. The guys are always hot and the Mary Sue is always cool. Ice cream doesn't make you fat in a book. The lottery is winnable. Heroes think cellulite is sexy and wrinkles add character to a woman's face. Cats don't fart in a book and if they do it's only to add comic relief to a tense situation.
Damn cat.
Sweet dreams. Bedtime at last.