Failure
If you never see yourself as a massive failure then you’ve got your head up your ass.
No, I’m not kidding. Dinner sucked last night, I failed to check Alexander’s homework and he lied about it like a little cretin. Alexander is now punished, but really it should be me because I gave him just enough rope to hang himself.
This morning was the blessing of the animals. I swear to all that is holy the priest fairly drowned the hamster.
Too bad, too, because if there was ever an animal that needed an exorcism Teddy Bear is it. I had the dog groomed yesterday and guess what holy water does to a freshly groomed poodle? Yep, there’s forty bucks down the drain.
Clearly I’m too irreverent Jewish to have the animals blessed.
Dinner will suck because I’m taking Step Dad’s big ass Benz for a schlep across the valley to get a storage shed before it rains on the bicycles. Yes, I borrowed a $90,000 car so that I can save $50 on a storage shed. Don’t fuck with me, it makes sense.
I’m so tired I want to cry.
I can’t quite catch up. I can’t quite get it all under control and I really need people to expect a little less of me, because I’m exhausted. I know that my Hashimotos Thyroiditis is out of control, I can feel it in my neck and I can’t find a good endocrinologist. Everyone just keeps asking me to take levoxyl and telling me that the T3 and T4 and TSH levels are fine. Then why do I have a lump in my throat? Why is my skin so dry? Why am I exhausted when I should be refreshed? Why can’t I breathe when I lay on my back? It’s not okay for me to be this sick. I know it can’t be good for my heart either (yes, I do have one).
Oh, and I’ll tell you about the fucked up ticket tomorrow. It involves a big Range Rover and a little prick.