July 24th, 2004

poor me

horror beyond telling

On a daily basis, the only thing that keeps me off the roof shouting out bad poetry symbolizing my inner-angst (with Sarah McLachlan sountrack accompanient, thank you) is my absolute terror of open heights. This is a thing--I like them, I like views of them, and the quickest way to make me lightheaded is to make me look down from one.

Also, because I have a sense of humor and sadly, I'm at least ten years out of being able to be *that* angsty on a daily basis. Stupid adulthood, destroying my drama.

Today, basically, the only thing keeping me groundlocked is the fact that I couldn't find a ladder.

Oh my *God*, I am being punished for something I did in my past life. I must have killed puppies or carried out some sort of nefarious plan involving earthworms, I have no idea, but--

My son, my neice, my step-nephew, and my step-neice are, quite honestly, born to a life of darkness and depravity. My rottten sister and husband are off at work, which I understand, that's how bills are paid, but that's really no excuse. It's--my final resort was taking them all outside and making them run circles in the yard.

Don't you *dare* laugh. You think of something better, just hit reply and tell me. Short of tying them up and leaving them out in a yard sale, I've run out of ideas.

And that plan is on the list, by the way.

They ran, though. They ran while I stared meaningfully at them, reminding them of oreo pie in the fridge, and they ran when they saw me threateningly wave my book at them, and then they ran more. They ran when I started chasing them desperately, and that's when I realized that I am *not* seven and these days, watching air move makes me tired. They ran until I felt, just maybe, I'd get them to sit still for a few minutes.

And they are still perky!!!

How is this even *possible*?

I have stated, often and regularly, that I do not want more children. My doctor is, unfairly, I think, not taking calls on weekends, or a tubal ligation would be happening, like in the morning.

Snip and dice away any possibility of this nightmare happening on a daily basis. I'm looking forward to work on Monday. It will get me away from them.

"Mommy--"

"Jenny--"

"JENN--"

"Aun'jenn--"

"JENNIFER--!"

It's like, whines in all flavors, and I'm changing my name to something hard to pronounce. My chips are gone, he won't share the video game, the doll is missing, the sky is falling, I'm getting chased by snakes, the world is ending--bah. If only I could get so lucky--

"MOMMY! HE'S NOT LETTING ME PLAY!"

"JENN! NEICE IS COVERED IN BLUE MARKER!"

"JENN, I WANT MORE SODA!"

Acutally, the blue marker thing was kind of funny, right up until I realized my sister probably expects her child to be in a similar condition to which she was left with me. To wit, not re-living the Pictish era of paganism. What I don't get is how she managed to paint both her arms, her cheeks, and her chest so thoroughly. Her hand-eye coordiation just sucks.

Did I mention they broke the footboard of my sister's bed earlier this week?

*warm satisfaction* It almost makes up for the fact that I had to wash my sheets *twice* to get teh marker out of them. Thank God and Crayola that they were the washable kind. I won't even mention teh state my jeans are in. Or my nerves. Or my hands. Or my broken nails.

I want to sell them on ebay. How much do you think I could make, anyway?

This message is brought to you in a fit of hysteria. If I'm not ever around again, well, can you *blame* me for my newfound appreciation of sheep herding in the upper reaches of Tibet? Really?
  • Current Mood
    blank blank