So, I get to work, get breakfast, get coffee, get back to my office, start working. Boss calls, wants to go to lunch at 11:30. Okay, no problem. So, I get another hour of work done and then meet him for lunch. We talk about work things and then I decide to go home, make it a short day, because I didn't sleep well and I would like to take a nap. I am almost home when I get a call from my mom. She's in the ER because her back went out again. So, I drive back towards the hospital and meet her in her er room. I go up to her department to pick up her stuff and then come back downstairs to the ER to wait for the doctor's orders. They discharge her and we get going. On the way home we decide that we will get her car later in the day after the Demoral wears off. So, I'm driving us to get her some lunch and she says to me, "You need to call Barb and get some lady's number to see what she needs to do for her test on Friday."
"Why can't you do it?"
"I'm going to bed."
So, we get home and she sits in her chair and is on the phone with her supervisor. She hangs up and is about to start reading her book and I say, "Hey, why don't you call Barb?"
She gets flustered, "Because I have nothing to write on and she's going to want all this information..."
"Fine. Fine. Give me the phone."
"no, I'll do it, I have paper here."
"Give me the phone."
So I start calling the neighbor and I'm getting short with her because I'm pissed at my mother, who then has the absolute huge balls to say, "Don't get snippy."
Don't get snippy? DON'T GET FUCKING SNIPPY? I'M FUCKING TIRED OF CLEANING UP *YOUR* MESSES, *YOUR* DISHES, *YOUR* HUSBAND'S DISHES AND DOING THE THINGS THAT YOU DON'T WANT OR DON'T FEEL LIKE DOING.
For another fucking example, she bought two bins for some t-shirts that are in her dresser because she can't bring herself to get rid of them, where are the bins? Downstairs still. Where is the shelving unit that she bought for the kitchen to help her get more organized? Oh, it's in the fucking kitchen, in the box it came in.
I'M DONE. DONE DONE DONE.
So, I finally get through with this lady at the testing place and she tells me that my neighbor has to go and pick up this stuff from the radiology dept by thursday. So, fine, I call the neighbor (why the neighbor can't do this is beyond me) and tell her and she's like, "I can't get out there!!!"
And what do I do? "I'll go."
WHY DO I DO THIS SHIT TO MYSELF???
So, then, fine. I hang up the phone. My mom goes upstairs. The phone rings. It's Publix Customer Service. They are trying to get the information to go after this chick who stole my purse and wrote a check to them. The cops aren't doing anything, but Publix is, amazing huh? So, I had given them the police report number on Friday, I get the call today that the number I gave them is now for a traffic accident. So, not only to I have to drive about 30-45 minutes away to get a god damn shit drink (it's a for a barium enema), I have to go back to the police station and make them help me get this bitch for Publix, oh yeah, and maybe if they'd like to press charges as well. The assfuckers.
Remember that movie Falling Down with Michael Douglas?
Yeah, he's looking like Elmo to me right now. Seriously.