Here we go.
Neighbors haven’t died from my death stare yet. Or from me standing on a ladder and shouting “Shut up!” and “Be quiet!” through the vents. Of course, they can’t hear me over the banging and now the rap music they play at all hours now.
***
I dredged up an old text I tried to put out of my mind a long time ago. I am sure I had my reasons. Sleeping dogs and lying and all that jazz. Now I’m sure backlash awaits. In several forms.
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Toof. Hurts. Someone get mom some healthcare so I can feel worthy of using mine while I still have it.
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The guy who cleans my work building is on Day 2 of a two-week vacation. The secret bathroom he gave me access to is so secret, his backup guy hasn’t found it yet. It’s like my Calico Maddie came back from beyond and started wiping her ass on the walls again. It’s that gross.
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I don’t understand why vacations are only for slackers or the unemployed. If I don’t get a break before things explode later this year … oh who am I kidding. Last “vacation” I had was … um, shit. Can’t recall.
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I’m terrified the neighbors will squat when their lease is up. Or that the HOA has lied through their teeth and I’m stuck with these mofos. Whom I have named. And these are not flattering names. And I will probably call them those names to their fugly little faces.
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I’m finding that the older I get, the harder it is to hogtie my Inner Bitch in the trunk. She will reach out and punch someone in a heartbeat. And if I don’t let her, she kicks me in the shin while she struggles.
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I try to tell myself that I’m relatively healthy and sane and I eat well and life could be worse. And generally I can see my friends being happy and be happy for them. But at some point, how can one help but wonder why some people are so happy that there isn’t enough of the real stuff left over for the rest of us.
***
I need a break. From everything. And I do mean everything. Did I say everything? Ev. Ree. Thing.