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Every morning when I go into Lukas�s room to wake him up, he opens his sleepy little brown eyes and says, �You cuddle with me,� and rolls over and goes back to sleep, fully trusting that I will immediately crawl right into bed with him. Most mornings, I do. On those mornings, lying in his little toddler-sized bed gazing upon his adorable two-year-old face as he sleeps, I forget how much almost every other thing in my life makes me want to break down and cry bitter tears of frustration. Today had one of those mornings in it, but alas, I still had to go to work, which brought me back to the bitter tears of frustration. Yesterday the announcement was made that K is quitting and moving to South Carolina. On Friday. Normally this would not be horrific as we have another girl at work who functions as a receptionist, but in true M_____ Insurance fashion, she announced yesterday that she, too, is quitting. (She�s not moving away, though. She just hates this place. I don�t blame her.) I have spent most of the last six months training both of these girls how to do my job, at least all the stupid parts of it that make me crazy with rage. Now I get all of those stupid parts back, plus the answering the phone part that almost caused my own personal announcement a few years ago, plus the added joy of training someone new. I hate training people. I want to invent some kind of training module into which I could put all the appropriate data and shove it into the ear of the trainee and BANG! Trained personnel. (Don�t anyone out there invent that now. I thought of it first.) (But if you do invent it, can I get one?) Not to mention the fact that my boss has the history of hiring glaringly underqualified applicants on the basis of appearance. Exhibit A: the hearing impaired receptionist, hired because she was twenty-one and has a twin sister. This is just one fresh layer of hell. Lately I am just a taco dip of hell. (You know, the multilayered taco salad dip thing that Aunt Frieda or whoever always brings to barbecues? I�m trying to think of a metaphor here.) Every time I think it can�t get any worse, someone spills a beer on a very expensive piece of electrical equipment and I have to pay $600 for a new one. Not for me. Do you know when the last time I spent $600 on something for myself was? I don�t either, so it must have been a long time ago. Now we are trying to file bankruptcy and that is of course a ridiculously time-consuming thing to do, and the moving is never-ending, and living with my parents is making me crabbier than an actual crab (and it don�t get much crabbier than a crab) and OH YEAH my point. Last night, to make up for whatever imagined reason Nick had for being mad at me, I played cute little sexy wifey and waited up for him after his drugs-and-alcohol class (do they teach you to abuse substances more effectively?) with lighted candles and sexy lingerie and all that girliness that I just don�t do. So we were all happily made up. We were as close to lovey-dovey as we, as a couple, ever get. Then he comes to visit me at work and says, as an opener, �I�m not very happy with you right now.� Where the fuck did that come from? We were happy for a very brief blip. Here�s what happened: I have a bike that I ride all the time. I bought one of those little computer-odometer things for it and asked Nick to put it on for me. It�s been almost six weeks and it�s still not on there. So last night I asked my dad to help me put it on, and we did. Nick is furious because he wanted to do it. Here I thought I was being helpful and taking something off his very long to-do list, and instead I�m the bad guy because he wanted to do that one thing. I just can�t win. But I can drink. Yes sir, I can. Kids are: Last person who pissed me off: Heard in my house: Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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