So, here it is the last Sunday of rest. The last day of no pressure, the last day.....before I go back to work.
I got a call on Friday, at 4:30pm, telling me that if I don't go back to work by this coming Wednesday, I'm terminated. How nice. Since I'm part-time, I'm only eligible for 60 days of FMLA. Oh, the lowly part-time employee, how you are so needed and so mistreated all at the same time. Whatever, the fuckers.
So I'll get my doctor's release and go back to work. I'm hoping that my current precarious mental state can withstand the insanity. It is a very, very negative environment that I work in, where each and every error that you make is brought to your attention, but no one ever thinks twice about telling you when you've done a good job. I guess that is most places anymore, but still. I had hopes of being a great American Writer or the perfect June Cleaver Stay-At-Home Mom type person, with perfect hair, a string of pearls and tasty dinner on the table when my family is hungry.
Instead, I'm a data entry worker who can only cook from the directions on the box, most days I don't shower and for the past two months, Super G has done all the parenting.
So I'm watching TV with Buddy, and I really have a bone to pick with the Nick Jr people. Max and Ruby:
Where are their fucking parents? What kind of Grandma lets those kids live alone in that house and then gives Max fucking ice cream for breakfast??? So Ruby is this bossy 7 year old that keeps a clean house and takes good care of Max, and has a garden and a manicured lawn and she always manages to have tea parties, or Bunny Scout Parties. I am almost 38 years old and I can't do any of that!!!!! How dare Nick Jr. show me up with a 7 year old bunny. Poor Max, growing up with absent parents and a bossy sister...... Or perhaps poor Bug and Buddy, for having a mom that can't do what any juvenile rabbit can.
Super G is trying to get the kids upstairs into the shower, and suddenly I hear this song "I'm running with my scrotum in my hand.....This is to protect it throughout the land"
I am going to stay in here. I really don't want to know, but they were all running around and laughing, so I feel no need to interfere. Buddy took a 3 hour nap today, so he'll be partyin' until midnight while Bug is crying hysterically, perhaps because she has no scrotum to hold while she runs, I don't know. Who knows why 7 year olds cry and scream, for the drama of it all I guess.
Now they're playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide whether it is a shower or a bath, no matter what, one of them is going to be angry. He likes to shower, she likes to bathe, and neither Super G nor I feel like running the water twice. At some point, they're going to be too old to bathe together.....and the girl just lost two out of three......the screaming has begun. I could go help out, but, well, her performance keeps ratcheting upwards, if I stay down here, she could be Oscar-worthy before she gets into the shower, at which point she won't want to get out. This is the dichotomy of childhood. No! No! don't put me in the clean, clean water......NO! NO! don't take me out of the now dirty water!
I should go up and help him out, lend moral support or something.