It is the end of Day Three: Henry’s Working Two Jobs Now.
I won’t try and be all courageous on your shit, saying that it’s all been fucking swell. It hasn’t. It has been really fucking stressful.
I know that there are people out there who do this shit every goddamn day of their lives and I feel like starting up a charity foundation in their honor because Jesus Fucking Shit-Packing Christ, these are some hard ass, arduous days. Right now I’m a little tanked on wine, I won’t kid.
Chooch is just —I mean, he’s my fucking kid, I love him, but good goddamn, one of us isn’t going to survive this. And I’m pretty sure that someone is me. I am laughing sardonically at myself for spending all this time fretting about the fact that I might have to actually boil a pot of water, when meanwhile, it’s the child-rearing that has me digging a grave.
This kid is going to kill me. He thinks he’s going to walk all over me, but he forgets that I bore him. He and I? We share the same stubborn gene. And we go round and round, we do.
Tonight, I decided to conpile a list of synonyms for “crazy.” I only made it as far as “loco” before being distracted by a ruddy-cheeked hooligan charging through the room growling “chicken blood asshole,” a not so cute and whimsical departure from the semi-adorable “cookie cake asshole.”
THE WEEK IS HALF OVER NOW GIVE ME SOME TEQUILA AND A STRIPPER.Oh, and a job-thing.