Tiny Coconut

I have things.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005


[Insert primal scream here to begin entry.]

Hate. I am just hating EVERYthing right now. People are so dumb. And when they're not dumb, they're just freaking annoying as hell. I'm at that point right now where I just want to bite the head off of every person who comes within biting distance.

For one thing...I have not once commented on the Schiavo case here, and I am so not going to get into it now. Except to say this: SHUT UP ALREADY! All of you! Who the fuck cares what you think about whether this poor girl should live or die? It's not your business! It's not your CHOICE! Just stop talking about it, and for the love of god, PLEASE stop talking about it as if you are somehow going to change my mind or anyone else's mind on the matter. Trust me on this. You won't.

For another thing...Baroy. Driving me UP A WALL! Urgh. There is nothing more annoying than living with a man who is absolutely bound and determined to be depressed and miserable, and who will take absolutely any attempt to help him as a challenge to prove that you're misguided and wrongheaded and haven't a clue what he needs. Oh. Sorry. There is something more annoying than living with a man who is absolutely bound and determined to be depressed and miserable yadayadayada. It's living with a man who is absolutely bound and determined to be depressed and miserable yadayadayada AND THEN finding out that he doesn't want to be an organ donor! Dude! You really CAN'T take it with you! All I can say is that he had better make sure to tatoo that denial of organs onto some prominent part of his body, because I am so donating all of his when he dies unless someone stops me. How freaking selfish can you get?

[And yes, I know, on the depressed and miserable thing: Pot. Kettle. Black. But truth be told, if the pot don't know what black looks like, ain't nobody knows. So trust me. That kettle is BLACK.]

And another thing: Shouldn't taking seventy-five different psychotropic medications on a daily basis give you a pass on the PMS-from-hell thing? Well, sister, it does NOT. And I'm pissed.

I hate my job. Hate. And I hate working a job I hate and then coming home and working until all hours of the night on freelance stuff and then waking up so I can go back to the job I hate.

My son continues to refuse to play with other children in his preschool class unless it's facilitated by one of the adults. And, get this, WeeyumWise was out sick all last week, and yesterday, as is his schedule, he was still out. So that's six days without WeeyumWise. And has N gotten any better? Noooooooooooooooo. Of course not. (His comment to me this morning: "When you see Weeyum's mommy, tell her 'bout how sad I be WeeyumWise not here all the time.")

And I'm so pissed at the way I am now constantly analyzing his every sound, his every move, his every emotional manifestation. I hate that even as I grin at him each time he asks me to "plause" the video, I wonder whether that's one of the articulation problems he's having. I hate that even as I shake my head and laugh while he plays with all of his imaginary friends in the back seat ("No! You no say 'Shut up,' Baaa!" [voice change] "I say what I want!" [another voice change] "You no say 'Shut up' to me!" [another voice] "Yeah!" etc., etc., etc.) I'm wondering at what point someone's going to tell me he's schizophrenic or bipolar.

And my poor baby girl. Em's been so hyperemotional lately. She's crying at the drop of a hat, and is straight-out begging for more of my time, which I just don't have to give. Not to mention she's going through the usual girl stuff, mostly problems with her friends. And then there's MY problems with her friends, one of whom was recently supposedly giving her an "example" of how people make fun of other people, and used this: "So a Jew walks down a street..." Apparently her mother stopped her there and gave her what-for, but since I wasn't there, and don't know the whole story, I don't know what to do. Does this kid really know Jew jokes? Does she think it's OK to tell them? Or was there no follow-up to that line; was she just trying to wake Em up to the idea that there are people who make fun of Jews? (Even that, though. Not her place. The friend is 8. Em's 7. They are too young to try and make sense of this on their own. That's my job, to interpret all of this for Em.) So now I feel like I need to talk to the mom, and that's going to be one uncomfortable conversation, I'll tell you right now. I hate confrontation. I hate people. Have I mentioned that?

What else? Oh, piddly stuff about the Girl Scouts, my work on the PTA board, this headache I have right now that might be tooth-related (remember: we're talking about 25 dentist-free years here for me). I'm annoyed because there's a mom in Em's class who insists on talking (and talking and talking and talking) to me every time she sees me, and I want to chew my leg off after the word 'hello.' I'm exhausted and I'm bored and I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. (Oh. Sorry. Too much information?) Oh, and I'm hungry. So very hungry. And so very overweight right now. And so very unhappy this way. And so unused to it being this bad.

Hate. Do you think if I just crawl under the desk and go to sleep someone else will write the 75 stories I have due at work, and the 25 freelance stories I'm working on, and will pick up and distribute the PTA newsletter, and will drive to Em's field trip tomorrow, and will figure out the scribbled-on envelopes that constitute the Brownie troop's dues calculations, and make the Brownie troop deposit, and go grocery shopping for me, and put back everything into the kitchn closet (got new shelves), and play with my children and get my husband to snap out of it, and make an appointment for the pediatric ophthalmologist for Em and one with the urologist for N, and follow up with the speech therapy people, and call some of the child psychiatrists the pediatrician recommended I speak with, and go to my therapy and psychiatrist sessions, and GET MY HUSBAND TO SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT?

I didn't think so. Damn.

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