How sleep deprived and stressed out do you have to be before you can qualify yourself among the living dead? This past week has just about pushed me over the fucking edge. Between stupid emails, frantic phone calls, exploding computers, vomiting dogs, screaming babies and a generally pervasive stressful environment that prevents sleep of any quality or quantity, I am officially announcing my initiation into the world of videogame creatures where my son shoots Russian Space Monkey Zombies with his uncles. Wish somebody would shoot me.
I've already bitched about that shitty fucking email so I'll just let you peruse that particular posting at your leisure. But last night and this morning were the straw that fucking turned the camel inside out. There was no new bitch session from the infamous Kate last night because whilst checking her email, her piece of shit computer decided to lock up, make a hideous screeching hissing noise, and die. D-E-A-D. Dead. The whore won't even power on, so at 2200, I'm at Walmart buying a new machine. Fuck!
Then I spent the night worrying about the pics of my kids on the old hard drive which is the only thing I give two shits about and getting the new computer up to my usual standard of functionality. Finally passed out at 0400 and woke up to the alarm at 0610, which means I have 15 minutes to get my 5 year old up, dressed, lunch packed, coat on, and out the door for the bus. Tight timetable, but doable. However, on my way through the kitchen to turn on my tea pot for my morning cup of tea, I slide through a puddle of dog vomit. Fuck the tea. Reverse course and go get the boy up.
Unfortuantely, the baby is awake. He's jumping up and down in his bed, wanting to get up which isn't happening because of the puke pile. So I get the kindergartner moving, throw him his clothes, go clean up the vomit and start on the lunch. And then I hear the lovely sounds of the dog dry heaving and before I can so much as turn around, that little shit has vomited again and now I have the fucking Atlantic Ocean all over my kitchen floor.
Back to my room to grab towels. The baby, still in bed, sees Mommy run in and out again without getting him up and proceeds to start screaming. Running with towels to clean up the sea of sick. 5 year old butt naked in the living room. Dog standing there gagging again. So my teenage daughter woke up to Mom screaming, "Get the fuck out of my house!!!" while slamming the door behind the dog. She thinks she's in trouble, 5 year old still not dressed, lunch not packed, baby screaming, puke towels going in the washing machine, and at 0617 Mom is bleaching the kitchen floor.
0622. 5 year old dressed. Teenager in shower. Baby still screaming, doing his usual Picasso routine now, and rubbing poop all over his bed to further express his displeasure at being kept waiting. Lunch finally packed. Into lunch bag and then into backpack. Throw coat, hat and gloves at 5 year old, jam on my own to walk him out and 0625, here's the fucking bus. Out the door. hugs and kisses and straightening his hat as he boards the big yellow box with a laughing at his mommy bus driver behind the wheel. (Fuck you, bitch!)
0626- Baby up now. Into tub. Shitty sheets joining the pukey towels in the washing machine. Naked baby streaking through the house. Diaper, clothes. Cheerios and a sippy cup of milk. And now I can sit for 5 minutes until the next fucking crisis. By this point my main concern is where the hell is my fucking cup of tea?!?
And people wonder why I smoke like a fucking dragon!
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