I think I have pulled down my business hat so tightly over my ears that I have no time to lament about how much life sucks.
I guess that could actually be a good thing. Although I suspect it will all come crashing down any minute now and drowned me in internal fears, insecurities and my own bowel waste.
After giving my old assistant the boot, I've been scrambling to make up for the shit she was supposed to be doing and was not, as well as correcting the shit she was working on but fucking up. If nothing else, each day I feel less bad about firing her useless ass. As a matter of fact, firing was much too good for her. I should have publically humiliated her by tying her inefficient ass to the conference table and have her coworkers lob rotten bananas and horse manure at her.
At least all is dyfunctionally normal on the home front.
In the past three day, SCM has bashed his head against inanimate objects exactly twice. He is walking around with two huge bruises on his noggin and a dazed and confused look on his face. Even more than usual.
Does the fact that this cracks me up make me a bad person? In my defense, I did check on him in the middle of the night after the first injury to make sure he wasn’t dead of a brain hemorrhage. Oh, and I was barely even disappointed when I acknowledged the fact that he was still breathing.
Number one son is getting the fuck out of my house a couple of weeks to make his way in the world. Of course he made sure he was still able to come for meals and to drop off his laundry. Being independent is one thing but there is no reason to be extreme!
He was a bit insulted when I started taping paint chips to his bedroom wall in anticipation of redecorating the room that will become my new home office.
“But wait, what if I need to come back?”
Love ya kiddo, not an option.
Did you ever feel like you could do no wrong and everything you touch will just turn to gold?