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at 2005-03-18 around 9:46 a.m.

Well that was nice. Someone just asked me a question about email (I�m the unofficial IT person here at work, apparently because I�m the only one who knows how to look through the menu options until you find what you want) and I opened my mouth to answer and burst into tears. What the fuck was that? And then I couldn�t stop. I knew I was pissed off this morning, but jeez. Lukas was being a little fucker about getting ready and made me fifteen minutes late (he�s my kid, I can say he�s being a fucker if I want to) and it didn�t even occur to Nick to get his lazy ass out of bed and maybe help me instead of listening to me pleading with them to please please PLEASE just get in the car and who the hell cares which seat you get, they�re the same and then yelling at me for being too loud while he�s sleeping. FUCK YOU. Raise your hand if you think it�s fair that every morning I get up at five so I can get in a workout without anyone bugging me, get myself ready for work, make myself a lunch so I don�t waste money on takeout every day, wake up two ornery not-morning-people boys, get them dressed, get their teeth and hair brushed, get their shoes and coats on, get them into the car, drive them to daycare, and get to work by five while my husband waits until I�m pulling out of the driveway to get out of bed? If you have your hand up now, you can fuck off too because it�s NOT FAIR. I go to bed early because I know I have to get up early. It�s not my fault that he stays up until two in the morning playing Xbox and needs to sleep in until whenever it is he sleeps.

Then I started thinking, oh my God, look at my life. Those are my mornings, and the day just gets worse from there. Then I go sit at a job I hate but can�t leave because my kids need insurance and Nick can�t get it from his job. I�m there until four. I get a nice two minutes by myself until I get to the sitters and wrestle the kids into the car. By the time I get home four minutes later (at least I don�t have a long commute), the kids are already fighting. I then tidy up the house, make dinner, feed the kids, clean up dinner, bathe the kids, get them into their pajamas, and put them to bed. Somewhere in there Nick gets home, eats, and plants himself in his chair and takes up the living room playing Burnout*3. He�s there until, like I said, at the very least midnight. If I want to watch something, I end up downstairs in the basement. That�s if he�s even home at all. Some nights, like last night, he came home for a couple minutes, got in a quick race on Burnout, and then left again till after midnight. On weekends, he sleeps until ten while I�ve been up since six with the kids. I even have to take out the garbage if I want it hauled away. That�s a boy job, I�m sorry. This is my life? This is what I�m working my ass off for? This is not what I want.

Then I think, so what are you going to do about it? Nothing. I�m not leaving, of course not. For some reason, I love the asshole. Am I going to say something to him about how sometimes when he�s sleeping (snoring and grinding his teeth) I get an urge to smother him with my pillow? No. I�m going to keep on keeping on, like I have been since I figured out I�m not happy a good four years ago. What the hell is wrong with me? It�s gotten to the point that someone asks me a stupid question and I burst into tears, yet here I am admitting that I�m not going to do anything about it?

The preceding was brought to you by A GIRL WHO DOES NOT TOLERATE BIRTH CONTROL PILLS WELL AT ALL.

Kids are: U2, something or other.

Last person who pissed me off: Guess.

Heard in my house: "Chicken again? Seriously?" Fuck off and make something else then.

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pics - 2007-06-05
I said I'd update again, but I didn't promise substance - 2007-06-04
I said I'd update again, but I didn' - 2007-06-04
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title this - 2007-04-14

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