I think one of the worst feelings for me is having all these things I want to write about, but being sick for the fortieth time this year has left me with the mental energy for little else but catching up on my DVRd CW shows. (Whoever thought I would like Hellcats?) Seriously considering home-schooling Chooch so he’ll stop bringing preschool slime home with him; he and I have been sick so much this year and it’s never been like this until he started SCHOOL.
His party is Saturday and I have no idea how I’m going to get anything done and I’m freaking out.
Thursday night, I outright lost my voice at work. It returned the next day, only to go AWOL during the show that night and even now it’s only at about 60%. (I love making up percentages. I guarantee that they are inaccurate 96% of the time.) I sound like an emphysemiac* trying to converse while J-Woww’s boobs plow-drive my chest.
(*Totally not a word.)
As the #1 Hater of Erin’s Voice, Henry is not complaining.
Speaking of Henry! He did fuck-all for me on Mother’s Day. His excuse is the same one he’s been slapping me in the face with for the last 5 years like a raw, bleeding steak: “But…you’re not my mother.”
Oh OK, well then I guess our son can just call himself a cab to drive him to whichever store he decides to shoplift my gift. Good job, Henry.
Not even a card. I couldn’t even look at Facebook at all on Sunday because I didn’t want to be reminded of the non-family I have.
This latest let-down will get filed in between the Black Forest Cake ball-drop of 2010 and the thirtieth birthday that blew by like a dejected balloon, except a balloon would falsely imply that there was some sort of celebration planned in my honor.
Which there was not.
I think I have bronchitis.
I have no shame in being a whiny sissy lala. Cheer me up, please.