Thursday, July 13, 2006
Kill me. Please.
What does it mean when I can't do something for more than five minutes, without becoming mind-numbingly and dangerously bored. Now force me to do that same thing for much much longer (like, oh say five more feet of cording using a spool knitter), and bad bad things. AARGH! I only have two feet to go. Two feet. But the thought of picking one more stitch and untangling the yarn yet again makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a popcicle stick. Why not something pointy like a knitting needle? Because the stick would be more painful and take longer, thus delaying the inevitable recontinue of making fricking cord. My cord is striped, the same variable stripe pattern as the bag. And usually that colour change is enough to keep me from having self-harming thoughts. But in a piece that is only four stitches around, that colour change happens so quickly. So it seems too long is not good for my mental health, nor is too short. Perhaps I should invest in finding out exactly what rythm and timing is best for me? Sounds tedious. Maybe I better not. This morning, on the way home from dropping off DD at daycamp, we stopped to pick up breakfast. I was starving, tired, and needed a real coffee really bad. You know you need the caffeine when suddenly McDonald's coffee qualifies as "real coffee". I can always manage to grub up breakfast for DD, but when it comes to myself some days I need that coffee before I can do anything more involved than eating dry cereal out of the box. We got a coupon for a payday lottery ticket. Basically, if you win, you get $1000 a week for life or something (maybe 20 years? I don't know how long). I hugged it and said "My coupon. I will win and then I can quit my job and stay home and get a maid". DH said we wouldn't be able to afford it, since I clearly can't afford it on my salary now. That made me blink. Since when do I make a grand a week? This is more than what I make now. And more is MORE. What you can't afford now, you can afford when you have MORE. Then we got into the discussion of paychecks and whatnot, and ended up having a fight. Not over money, not over me quitting my job. But over the fact that he splits hairs with me and will poo-poo whatever I say as wrong, to take something literal when I am being figurative. I said something was "about a grand" and he got all huffy and said I was wrong. It turned out it was 996 dollars. WTF?!?! Oh, I am sorry for not doing the math to the penny, pardon me for being an idiot. DAMN it ticks me off when he does that. I will say "a couple" and he will say I am wrong, because it three. But if I say a few, that is still wrong because it is not an exact number. When we talked about painting and trying to explain a paint treatment, I said "you just take the roller with the second colour and go over top lightly". He called me downstairs to basically call me stupid because I neglected to mention removing the plastic cover on the roller, pouring the second colour into a tray, and so on. I didn't realize he needed an itemized list. The tireder I get from not sleeping well, the less patience I have for his bullshit when he pulls these stunts. Today he was supposed to finish cleaning the basement and getting the yard sale stuff organized so I can price it. Still hasn't touched it, and informed me is his going to "hit some golf balls" then taking his mother on errands for the afternoon. I told him I will be very busy today so he will have to make dinner and pick up DD. "I can't. I don't know exactly when I will be home". Then PLAN to be home in time to retrieve and feed your child, you ass. Could you imagine, if I went about my day not worrying about things like meals and laundry and cleaning and shopping and picking up and dropping off the darling child? Ah, it would be so nice one day to just say "I don't know what time I will be finishing my blog and the stack of data entry I have to do, so the rest of the world will just have to accomodate me". Gee, when I am grumpy I get a potty mouth ROFL. Sorry about that. Ruby has a bump on her leg, just above the paw. Yesterday after dinner she was "panty". She pants when she is excited, concerned, or in pain. Sometimes it's hard to tell which, sometimes it is all three. After an hour and it hadn't stopped (I mean, she also pants when she is warm and she had a long "business trip" outside inspecting every blade of grass) I looked her over. And sure enough, a bump. Her paw doesn't seem sore, and only the underside of the bump seems to evoke a reaction when touched. It's a little lower today, but still makes her concerned when I look at it so that warrants a trip to the vet. I suspect it is a bumble-bee sting, because the grass had been wet and when the grass is wet she takes a shortcut through the flower bed. And the salvia is blooming, covered in bumbles from sun up to past sun down. Her shortcut takes a path right through the middle of the clump. And more than once she has taken a notice of one of those fuzzy little bees and pawed at it, or put her nose on it for a good sniff. Bumble bees do come out in the rain, and they get grumpy when they do. But still, I can't find a stinger (or a stinger hole) and I want to make sure everything is alright. Pardon me while I sob for a bit, over the anticipated bill. I love my animals and care for them well and am not afraid to drop some bills if they need it. But DAMN. As soon as I get a couple of dollars in my account, the karma gods suck it right back out again with a straw. Let me in mommy, there are bumble bees out here!