Note: This is not a post that you want to read. I'm not kidding. Go to the top corner of your screen and exit now. Before it's too late.
You probably wouldn't believe how close I came to just keeping my car running in the garage tonight. I actually started to make myself a deal that if I was still conscious by the time Cassie had to be picked up from soccer, well then, that would mean that I was meant to endure this bullshit just a little bit longer. I guess the positive side of this paragraph is that I haven't actually looked into how long it would take carbon monoxide to kill me.
That's me. Always looking up.
For those who think that would be just a plain old selfish, shitty thing to do, you're entitled to your opinion. And for others who think I should be immediately locked up in Alberta Hospital, you're entitled to your opinion too. Rest assured, that option would kill me faster than anything else, so it probably wouldn't be wise. But whatever. I know for a fact that every parent after 16 years of crap has looked at that oncoming semi and thought, this could all be over in a second. I'm just being down-right fucking real, and for anyone out there who actually enjoys this crapshoot called parenting and want to judge me, then you clearly haven't walked a mile in my shoes. In fact, I think I'd bet on you lasting about five steps before you tear your feet out of said shoes and throw them as far as you can while sprinting in the other direction.
I hate wads of crotch-swiped toilet paper on my bathroom floor. I hate dishes all over my living room. I hate all my broken stuff that I used to love. I hate peeling used tampons off the wall behind the toilet. I hate being hated because in between working all day, making supper, putting Liv to bed and taking a kid to soccer, I asked, nay, demanded help with dishes. I said "as much as you can do in five minutes". That was asking too much. REALLY????
I hate that my kid failing school, dropping classes and getting fired leads to a 'you-know-nothing-mind-your-own-business' bullshit attitude. Not my business?? Since it's my job to make sure you're not living here when your 30, and you are clearly going down that road, I'm making it my fucking business!!! Who the hell do you think you are telling me that I have no right to get all in your face when you screw up your life? And then you demand respect? REALLY?
And last but not least, the littlest daughter is crying because she can't go to a birthday party that I have no control over because she'll be busy with her cheer recital that I had no control over. But hey, at least she's inconsolable because SHE'S SIX!!!
And yes. With the exception of the tampon (which happened about two weeks ago and I just haven't yet recovered from) this was 30 minutes of my evening.
A mere 30 minutes in my own personal hell.
Upon much reflection, once I cooled off, I decided to still go ahead and post this. It's my blog after all. And I hope to one day look back at this and laugh at my foolishness. At the rate things are going, I'll be reading it in a few years from the recreation room of the women's facility and thinking back on how good things were at this stage of my life and how I wish that I could just have it all back.
Cassie has apologized for her part in all this and is now working her fanny off cleaning the house.
Liv is fast asleep.
Asia is hiding in her room.