Today I more or less hate every part of my life.
So I woke up this morning and immediately wished I hadn't. Jack was being adorable, but in a really foul-smelling and wrecking-the-house-while-no-one-was-watching sort of way. Now, I love my son more than anything in the world, but this morning was rough, and Amy and Caraline were nowhere to be found.
Then Amy and Caraline got home, apparently from the hospital. It seems Caraline had gotten quite sick overnight and they went to the ER, where she was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. Poor kid.
But Amy hadn't slept all night. A few of you might know what this means - and if you don't, let me tell you: it means she was TOTALLY INSANE by this morning. She gets all disoriented and almost everything she says is nonsense to some degree or another. Her insomnia is a symptom of something much worse, I'd wager, but of course she just gets angry if I suggest she might consider that possibility. "I'm not crazy!" she asserts furiously, then makes some statement or asks some question that makes me think the exact opposite is true.
Living with Amy and her mental instability is a lot like what I have read it is like to live with a severe alcoholic, or an abusive spouse, or some combination of the two. Of course, the problem there is that it's relatively easy to get someone into rehab for drinking, and a battered spouse can always call the police. With crazy, there's really very little I can do.
Anyway, I thought that by leaving the house and going to work, I'd have a chance to become less annoyed. Ah! The foolishness!
My boss blew into the office this morning a few minutes after I arrived, and told me that our (meaning "my") priority this morning is to list a certain property. A property about which I know nothing and have ZERO paperwork. Ed has been giving me less and less information with each task lately. The last two properties I listed were put in the system based on a single sheet of paper with some chicken-scratch notes on it. This time I don't even get that.
I am blogging right now so that I don't quit my job in frustration. Part of me wants to deprive Ed Roberts of an assistant suddenly and without warning so that his real estate business will collapse in the absence of anyone who knows what he's doing. The rest of me sort of needs my meager paycheck to do things like keep the water turned on.
Then Amy and Caraline got home, apparently from the hospital. It seems Caraline had gotten quite sick overnight and they went to the ER, where she was diagnosed with a urinary tract infection. Poor kid.
But Amy hadn't slept all night. A few of you might know what this means - and if you don't, let me tell you: it means she was TOTALLY INSANE by this morning. She gets all disoriented and almost everything she says is nonsense to some degree or another. Her insomnia is a symptom of something much worse, I'd wager, but of course she just gets angry if I suggest she might consider that possibility. "I'm not crazy!" she asserts furiously, then makes some statement or asks some question that makes me think the exact opposite is true.
Living with Amy and her mental instability is a lot like what I have read it is like to live with a severe alcoholic, or an abusive spouse, or some combination of the two. Of course, the problem there is that it's relatively easy to get someone into rehab for drinking, and a battered spouse can always call the police. With crazy, there's really very little I can do.
Anyway, I thought that by leaving the house and going to work, I'd have a chance to become less annoyed. Ah! The foolishness!
My boss blew into the office this morning a few minutes after I arrived, and told me that our (meaning "my") priority this morning is to list a certain property. A property about which I know nothing and have ZERO paperwork. Ed has been giving me less and less information with each task lately. The last two properties I listed were put in the system based on a single sheet of paper with some chicken-scratch notes on it. This time I don't even get that.
I am blogging right now so that I don't quit my job in frustration. Part of me wants to deprive Ed Roberts of an assistant suddenly and without warning so that his real estate business will collapse in the absence of anyone who knows what he's doing. The rest of me sort of needs my meager paycheck to do things like keep the water turned on.