Domestic Un-bliss
Hugh was sick last week, so to stay healthy I have been avoiding the bathroom off the master bedroom. Well, he has too. I bit the bullet today and went in with PineSol, Windex, Comet, and lots and lots and lots of Lysol.
DIE YOU MICROBIAL BASTARDS!!!! DIE YOU M*********G BUGS!!!! DIE!!!!
Okay, so I went a little postal in there. I did get a thank you from Phoebe since her litterbox is in there, too.
Work is fine. Just peachy. Any more peachy and I'd be swimming in syrup.
I lie. I want to drown some of senior management in syrup. That is so much closer to the truth. We have a critical project that must go live by mid-January. The funding has not been released. In fact, the request form only just got sent off yesterday because of all the dithering over the price. Did I mention this is building a new site that has to be ready for 200 people? When they bitch about us not making the date, I want the world to witness my righteous (okay, for those who know me, SELF-righteous) indignation as I go for their corporate jugular.
Actually, I have been in a crappy mood all day. I'm averaging 50 hours a week at work spending my lunch time working at my desk, getting there before dawn, leaving after dusk, oh, and did I mention there are no windows? Thus, I have missed seeing DAYLIGHT all week. And today is overcast. Since I tend to be snippy at the best of times this has definitely made me just this shy of psychotically irascable.
Not to mention there is a picture of a skinny blond in a sports bra right now on my obligatory advertisement banner saying "What FAT ZONE can I help you shrink?"
I can tell this wench to e*t s**t and d** in about four different languages. Where the hell did I put my St. John's Wort before I get really nasty?
On a good note, my sister's pregnancy is going very well, and she's over the morning-sick phase. It seems to have evened her mood out fantastically. Who knew? She hasn't terrorized the neighbourhood with fly-bys on her vacuum cleaner for a while.
She won't read this. I'm safe.
Soon I get to wake my dearest from his disco nap and we will go out clubbing for a while. At least, what passes for clubbing for overweight middle-aged fogies.
DIE YOU MICROBIAL BASTARDS!!!! DIE YOU M*********G BUGS!!!! DIE!!!!
Okay, so I went a little postal in there. I did get a thank you from Phoebe since her litterbox is in there, too.
Work is fine. Just peachy. Any more peachy and I'd be swimming in syrup.
I lie. I want to drown some of senior management in syrup. That is so much closer to the truth. We have a critical project that must go live by mid-January. The funding has not been released. In fact, the request form only just got sent off yesterday because of all the dithering over the price. Did I mention this is building a new site that has to be ready for 200 people? When they bitch about us not making the date, I want the world to witness my righteous (okay, for those who know me, SELF-righteous) indignation as I go for their corporate jugular.
Actually, I have been in a crappy mood all day. I'm averaging 50 hours a week at work spending my lunch time working at my desk, getting there before dawn, leaving after dusk, oh, and did I mention there are no windows? Thus, I have missed seeing DAYLIGHT all week. And today is overcast. Since I tend to be snippy at the best of times this has definitely made me just this shy of psychotically irascable.
Not to mention there is a picture of a skinny blond in a sports bra right now on my obligatory advertisement banner saying "What FAT ZONE can I help you shrink?"
I can tell this wench to e*t s**t and d** in about four different languages. Where the hell did I put my St. John's Wort before I get really nasty?
On a good note, my sister's pregnancy is going very well, and she's over the morning-sick phase. It seems to have evened her mood out fantastically. Who knew? She hasn't terrorized the neighbourhood with fly-bys on her vacuum cleaner for a while.
She won't read this. I'm safe.
Soon I get to wake my dearest from his disco nap and we will go out clubbing for a while. At least, what passes for clubbing for overweight middle-aged fogies.