My day started off great with a nice smooth shift at work, but went rapidly downhill from there; Hotter is sick and a nail in one of the MFA Beater's NEW tires (couldn't be one of the old ones, ohOOOOO no) turned ino $221, a new wheel hub, tire, studs and nuts, and two hours in MFA Mechanic's waiting room, then Hotter slept through Daddy Dinner Date Night after finding out Lefty is getting out of prison late next month (despite having committed SEVERAL felonies ON SURVEILLANCE VIDEO) for having ratted on someone, which means Lefty is highly likely to get shot over the holidays so MERRY FUCKING TURKEY-KAH-MAS. Then when he brought the kids back my ex beckoned me out onto the front porch to try to gaslight me into believing Little Child had actually ASKED for growth hormone shots at the appointment that I attended where the endocrinologist pronounced him a healthy shrimp with normal bone age and the child expressed nothing but satisfaction with his own stature, and when I gave him the hand and said he needed to stop trying to bend reality and project his own securities onto our son he screamed at me. YAY! Wait, no, SHIT! The XY has furthermore diagnosed yet another child with yet ANOTHER endocrine condition that I won't be discussing publicly but am pretty sure is Not Actually A Thing, and honestly I think he probably just needs his psych meds tweaked or possibly a beating with the Narcissist Be Cool Stick. And only because I don't think my back is quite up for this yet:
So here are some things that I did not write, because anything I write today is going to be about Hotter's shitty timing and how cars and junkies are fucking whores and my ex needs to get over his Lilliputian penis (because the rest of the world already has, and it's less because of the size of his gear and more because it's dangling off a GIANT FESTERING ASSHOLE).
This is hilarious. Who is going to help me stab The XY in the leg?*
This is thought-provoking stuff, and I thinks she's right. Lord, I miss the gym.
I'm sure I read something else awesome at some point today, but I think I'm going slightly blind from rage so I'm going to go bed.
* In case his imaginary lawyers are reading this, that was tongue-in-cheek; if I ever stabbed the XY I'd aim higher**
** Which isn't to say I'd ever actually stab my ex-husband, solicit anyone else in seriousness to stab him for me, or be creative enough to find any way of effing up his life any further than he already has on his own. Yes, I have an MFA in the creative field, but that shithead is a self-sabotage savant and half the reason we divorced is that I realized he didn't need me in his life to accomplish his evident goal of being a miserable fucking wretch, but I DID need him OUT of MY life to accomplish my own goal of remaining a pacifist.