Besides the whole Karl thing, things have been going pretty well here in Chez MB2 of late.
(clearly my standards aren’t that high)
So much so that one day, while lovingly caressing the door of my new French Door fridge, MPS had just put the last load of laundry on the line and we were about to go and watch a movie cause there was no housework to do, I turned to him and said that I was happy.
That things were cruising along.
That I liked our life right now.
That if it could stay like this I would be content.
Jesus fuck Kelley. What is wrong with you?
Obviously I like a challenge or thrive on the adrenaline or SOME SUCH FUCKING thing because CLEARLY I don’t learn from my history, which is when things seem to be going well that is when you keep quiet.
Shut your damn mouth.
Fly under the radar.
KEEP IT ON THE DOWN LOW!
Property manager from hell turns up and tries to cause trouble again. We have done nothing wrong and she has nothing to bitch about but the owner of the agency is involved now and he is just as flabbergasted as we are. Something about a window that the owners need to fix and are completely aware of and has nothing to do with us? Woman has got a fucking screw loose. I fucking hate renting.
Please please let me win the lottery. So I can buy a house (from the owner of the agency cause he is a sweetie, but only if he fires that fucking sour faced property manager)
People are being laid off willy nilly at work and the place is like a fucking morgue. It doesn’t matter if you have been there a week or 25 years, it feels like we are being picked off like sniper bait. And lots of other horrible invasive stuff that I can’t go into here…
Please please let me win the lottery. So I can pay my solicitors fees when I send the big bag of steaming dog shit to the people that put us through this motherfucking hell.
Although we still don’t know what Karl is, I have now developed a delightful symptom called gastroparesis. For us commoners that is stomach paralysis. FUN TIMES. So basically most of the time I am on liquids only. No hot salty fries. No margaritas. Hoping this shit is temporary. Cause check out the diet my friends… there is not a lot of fucking happy there.
Please please let me win the lottery. So I can find a fucking doctor to diagnose me with something before I starve to death. 18 kilos down since March. I am going to have to start rolling my boob skin into my bra soon.
Boo’s school is doing my head in. Tell them one thing and they do the opposite. Then spring a meeting on me after school and wonder why Boo is upset? Ummmm? Have we all met? And then spend the entire time complaining to me and we don’t get anything done.
Please please let me win the lottery. So I can clone myself so I don’t have to deal with this shit any more and maybe just homeschool Boo and he will actually learn something anyway instead of just being put in the back of a damn fucking classroom with a ream of paper and a fucking pencil and allowed to draw all fucking day.
Come to think of it… maybe I am the bear.
I need a nap and a fucking steak.