If the first two minutes that you're awake are utterly surreal, what does that say for the rest of the day?
Not much, so far, but... different issue, that.
(The "not much" part, which I shall get to.)
Tuned to TVLand, as always. I see Miss Beadle, the teacher from Little House.
She's looking a little distressed and she's talking to a kid I recognize, but whose name escapes me. I keep watching, to try to ascertain what's goin' on and it seems like Miss Beadle has to take care of this kid for a while because his Dad (a widower) is in jail for "helping" Miss Beadle (whose name has yet to be spoken, I just know who the woman is) with some bad man who tried or did rape her and now Dad's in jail and the kid's all upset.
Naturally. So, Miss Beadle says, "Fuck this. I'm gonna go tell the marshall what really happened and see what I can do for your Dad."
(And, yes, I am paraphrasing here... also, apparently, nobody wanted to say why Dad had killed the bad man. They didn't want to admit what had been done to Miss Beadle...) Instantly, my brain asks, "Law? In Walnut Grove? Who was the cop on that show?" Meanwhile, she's entering a door on the show and the marshall/sheriff/cop guy is James Arness. My brain then began to melt because what the FUCK is Marshall Dillon doin' coppin' in Walnut Grove? There's Miss Beadle, that stupid kid I can't quite place, the time period is right, the town looks about right, the insides of the rooms look the same... wtf? Dillon in Walnut Grove... okay. Then, my brain says, "Hey. That kid. If he's not offa Little House, he's a Lookinland, not Mike though... one of his brothers. Are you watching Little House or Gunsmoke?" It was Gunsmoke. Wull, thank Gawd, then... But, Jesus that was a weird feeling, trying to place Matt Dillon as the cop in Walnut Grove... Then, after that mental struggle, I get up, go to the bathroom, greet (meaning: fuss over, pet half to death and pick up and say Hi to) about six cats while sitting there, then come on down for a cuppa coffee. Thus begins the "not much being said for the rest of the day" part. Within seconds, I know that I wish "not much being said" applied to PEOPLE.
Like, PEOPLE WOULD JUST SHUT UP. Senior. I come down, there IS coffee, thank CHRIST, but... Every goddamned cabinet door that's been opened so far today is STILL open.
Not only does this look like hell, it also gives the cats free reign to nibshit in places where I've put shit BEHIND DOORS for them to stay out of. *grrrr* Then, I glance around and it just becomes obvious that NOBODY (including me, probably) has the slightest BIT of respect or liking that I kill myself keeping this house clean.
I mean, jeezus, job security is one thing.
THIS is fuckin' ridiculous.
Shit EVERYWHERE.
(Not poop shit, miscellaneous shit...) So, I'm rolling my eyes to myself about that and shutting fuckin' cabinet doors while my cuppa coffee nukes for 55 seconds. I find that Sr. is in for breakfast.
He's in here, noodling around on the computer.
I asked if HE had any idea who left all the cabinets open, and he says he doesn't, which is totally normal for him, in that HE'S the one who leaves 'em open and doesn't even realize/know/care he's doing it. I give my standard, yeah, this boring already answer of, "Y'okay." and go back to get my coffee. I put the shit in it (sweet-n-low and half a pound of Coffeemate) and as I'm coming in here, he's getting up to go back out and being a total ASS about his phone, WHICH if you can remember from my LAST POST I've been through enough shit on behalf of to last the rest of the fuckin' YEAR already.
I don't need HIS shit, his threatening to kill it and doin' all that spittle-flecked cussing at it and shit. I just woke up here.
I got my mind fucked by goddamned TVLand before I even got outta bed to come down here and see that my cleaning the house is akin to trying to empty the fuckin' ATLANTIC OCEAN with a fuckin' TEASPOON and now here's his brand of shit, too.... I told him to just stop it.
Leave the godamned phone alone.
It's the last one we have around here, I have enough shit to juggle trying to keep the fuckin' things going as it is and if he kills his phone, I ain't buyin' another one.
His BOSS can deal with it. So, going by the first, oh... twenty minutes of this day, I'm inclined to dig a hole and bury myself in it before the next load of shit thing happens. Or, just take the friggin' coffeepot into the bathroom with me and baracade myself in there all day... *coupla minutes later* Well, thank GOD.
My bank has finally caught the fuck up with me.
Them and their "give ya half of your deposit one day, the rest two days or so later" shit... I paid every damned bill we have over the weekend and as of yesterday, the stupid bank had me down as 140 bucks under in my account.
Or, in my "availabe balance"...
T'was pissin' me off, too. But, I just checked again and finally, they have it right. All bills paid and I'm back in black as far as my balance. So, that's one thing going right so far.
(In the face of about 12 that haven't gone right so far, but... fuck that, I guess. A start is a start, right?) Okay.
I need another cuppa coffee.
I'm assuming that if I can manage to get one without any disasters befalling me, the day may not suck?
Much?
More? Jeezus. And, yeah... I'm already primed to accept and be happy with that "reasonable facsimile of"... Peace
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