I Don't Like Mondays
Actually, this Monday shouldn't be so bad. It's the first day the new kid schedule takes effect, meaning El Nino will be with his father tonight and tomorrow. I'll pick him up from school on Wednesday evening. Until then, I'm free, free, free like a bird, bird, bird.
It wasn't a bad weekend. The boy was in relatively good spirits on Saturday. The fact I'd agreed to let his father take him to a family function from 1:30 to 4:30 cut into our day pretty heavily, which sucked--so we spent the morning being slugs. The moron was 15 minutes late picking up El Nino, and when he arrived, he didn't say a word to me. Not even when I asked him "do you want me to pick him up or will you bring him back here?" I finally got a "whatever" out of him when I changed my query to "I'll just pick him up at 4:30 at your place, okay?" While he was gone, Ben and I made use of the time by eating Chinese for lunch, having hot sex, and taking a 1 hour nap. I got up to fetch El Nino and, on a hunch, called Dumbass's house first. No answer. Called his cell--no answer. He called at 4:45 and said "we're at such-and-such intersection and will be there shortly." So I waited a few minutes and then left. Got to his house, no one's home. My cell phone rings, it's him: "Where are you?" At your house, where I said I would pick up my son, where the hell are you? "At your place, where I told you we would be." No, I said I'd pick him up at 4:30 at your house. "That was at 4:30, then I called you and said I would be there shortly. There meaning where you are."
Did you know I'm clairvoyent? Neither did I.
So I waited there for the dumbass to turn around and return to his house. He didn't say a word to me but just stared at me shaking his head like I'm some kind of stupid child. I let it go, put the boy in the car, and drove away. He called me about 2 minutes later and wanted to argue about it some more, I cut him off. Then he asked, "what's wrong with your car?" I believe there's a hole in the exhaust. "Well, it sounds pretty bad." Yep, sure does. Anything else? "No, I guess not, but there will be." Okay, bye.
Whatever. I'm not arguing with him anymore. I'm not allowing him to get to me anymore. Because in the end analysis, he is nothing to me anymore. He can no longer hurt me, unless I give him the opportunity. I won't.
Saturday evening, Ben and I took the boy to the "big animal park" and there were no incidents. Went home, put him to bed, and then Ben and I got drunk. Not falling-down drunk, but very pleasantly shitfaced. I have more fun with him doing nothing than I ever thought possible. We have very similar senses of humor--warped and sick--so we're very good at entertaining each other.
I love him beyond words.
Yesterday was challenging. The boy woke up in a "mood" that can only be described as "3 year old hell" and stayed in it all day.
So I'm pretty glad it's Monday. I'm supposed to head back to the softball field tonight for the first time this season--all of our games are on Mondays this year, which has sucked, because that's been (to this point) a night I have my son. I've been missed, which should give you an idea as to just how crappy our team is. (Pretty crappy.) I'm curious as to just how well I'm going to play given the whole broken toe situation. If they try to stick me in left field because I'm disabled, I'll toss a fit. As it is now, we risk forfeit because we apparently are short on dudes. I'm trying to talk Ben into playing so he can impress my friends with his awesome skills. Honestly, I wish the hurricane residuals would make it our way and force a rainout, because I really don't want to play tonight. I hate Monday night games. The only thing I really want to do on any given Monday night is eat carry-out and zone in front of the tv.
So I started freaking out this morning because "Aunt Flo" hadn't yet made an appearance. I decided with my luck, I'd be better off just dropping the $12 on a test and getting it over with. Negative, deliciously negative. I wouldn't mind sailing that ship again, but dammit, not now. Actually, I'm secretly hoping by the time we get around to it, I'll be able to say, "gee, sweetie, I'm too old, no good eggs left in that basket, sorry." The more time I spend with my 3 year old, the less eager I am to jump back in that saddle.
Then all the working mommies decide to start posting about how many times they tested negative when they were actually knocked up. Thanks, ladies. I'm just going to trust the negative and chalk it up to too much stress. Not like I haven't had any in my life lately...
My lack of motivation at work continues. I'm just spinning my wheels in this job. It pays the bills (barely) and there's a lot of flexibility, but I'm so bored, I could cry.
Ben and I have decided that, rather than gambling with homelessness, we'd just move me and El Nino into his house for a few months so we can save some cash and take our time finding our "dream rental," rather than being pressured to find a place and come up with the funds to rent it. I think it will be fine. I'm only worried about that wierdness that can occur when someone moves in on another's space. I don't think it will be a problem--I mentioned it to him and he assured me he's already thinking of it as "our house." Still, it won't be "ours" to me, especially if most of my crap is sitting in storage somewhere. I'm trying to adopt a new frame of mind--that home consists of the people in it, not the shit. I guess as long as I have my clothes, my shoes, and my boys, I'll be fine. The rest is all excess.
Besides, doing this will drop my rent from $744/mo to $275/mo, at which one can't exactly shake a stick. In a few months, I should be caught up on bills AND have a nice chunk o' change set aside for deposits and whatnot. It makes sense.
Cross your fingers this signals a true turn of events in my life.
It wasn't a bad weekend. The boy was in relatively good spirits on Saturday. The fact I'd agreed to let his father take him to a family function from 1:30 to 4:30 cut into our day pretty heavily, which sucked--so we spent the morning being slugs. The moron was 15 minutes late picking up El Nino, and when he arrived, he didn't say a word to me. Not even when I asked him "do you want me to pick him up or will you bring him back here?" I finally got a "whatever" out of him when I changed my query to "I'll just pick him up at 4:30 at your place, okay?" While he was gone, Ben and I made use of the time by eating Chinese for lunch, having hot sex, and taking a 1 hour nap. I got up to fetch El Nino and, on a hunch, called Dumbass's house first. No answer. Called his cell--no answer. He called at 4:45 and said "we're at such-and-such intersection and will be there shortly." So I waited a few minutes and then left. Got to his house, no one's home. My cell phone rings, it's him: "Where are you?" At your house, where I said I would pick up my son, where the hell are you? "At your place, where I told you we would be." No, I said I'd pick him up at 4:30 at your house. "That was at 4:30, then I called you and said I would be there shortly. There meaning where you are."
Did you know I'm clairvoyent? Neither did I.
So I waited there for the dumbass to turn around and return to his house. He didn't say a word to me but just stared at me shaking his head like I'm some kind of stupid child. I let it go, put the boy in the car, and drove away. He called me about 2 minutes later and wanted to argue about it some more, I cut him off. Then he asked, "what's wrong with your car?" I believe there's a hole in the exhaust. "Well, it sounds pretty bad." Yep, sure does. Anything else? "No, I guess not, but there will be." Okay, bye.
Whatever. I'm not arguing with him anymore. I'm not allowing him to get to me anymore. Because in the end analysis, he is nothing to me anymore. He can no longer hurt me, unless I give him the opportunity. I won't.
Saturday evening, Ben and I took the boy to the "big animal park" and there were no incidents. Went home, put him to bed, and then Ben and I got drunk. Not falling-down drunk, but very pleasantly shitfaced. I have more fun with him doing nothing than I ever thought possible. We have very similar senses of humor--warped and sick--so we're very good at entertaining each other.
I love him beyond words.
Yesterday was challenging. The boy woke up in a "mood" that can only be described as "3 year old hell" and stayed in it all day.
So I'm pretty glad it's Monday. I'm supposed to head back to the softball field tonight for the first time this season--all of our games are on Mondays this year, which has sucked, because that's been (to this point) a night I have my son. I've been missed, which should give you an idea as to just how crappy our team is. (Pretty crappy.) I'm curious as to just how well I'm going to play given the whole broken toe situation. If they try to stick me in left field because I'm disabled, I'll toss a fit. As it is now, we risk forfeit because we apparently are short on dudes. I'm trying to talk Ben into playing so he can impress my friends with his awesome skills. Honestly, I wish the hurricane residuals would make it our way and force a rainout, because I really don't want to play tonight. I hate Monday night games. The only thing I really want to do on any given Monday night is eat carry-out and zone in front of the tv.
So I started freaking out this morning because "Aunt Flo" hadn't yet made an appearance. I decided with my luck, I'd be better off just dropping the $12 on a test and getting it over with. Negative, deliciously negative. I wouldn't mind sailing that ship again, but dammit, not now. Actually, I'm secretly hoping by the time we get around to it, I'll be able to say, "gee, sweetie, I'm too old, no good eggs left in that basket, sorry." The more time I spend with my 3 year old, the less eager I am to jump back in that saddle.
Then all the working mommies decide to start posting about how many times they tested negative when they were actually knocked up. Thanks, ladies. I'm just going to trust the negative and chalk it up to too much stress. Not like I haven't had any in my life lately...
My lack of motivation at work continues. I'm just spinning my wheels in this job. It pays the bills (barely) and there's a lot of flexibility, but I'm so bored, I could cry.
Ben and I have decided that, rather than gambling with homelessness, we'd just move me and El Nino into his house for a few months so we can save some cash and take our time finding our "dream rental," rather than being pressured to find a place and come up with the funds to rent it. I think it will be fine. I'm only worried about that wierdness that can occur when someone moves in on another's space. I don't think it will be a problem--I mentioned it to him and he assured me he's already thinking of it as "our house." Still, it won't be "ours" to me, especially if most of my crap is sitting in storage somewhere. I'm trying to adopt a new frame of mind--that home consists of the people in it, not the shit. I guess as long as I have my clothes, my shoes, and my boys, I'll be fine. The rest is all excess.
Besides, doing this will drop my rent from $744/mo to $275/mo, at which one can't exactly shake a stick. In a few months, I should be caught up on bills AND have a nice chunk o' change set aside for deposits and whatnot. It makes sense.
Cross your fingers this signals a true turn of events in my life.
posted by Mitzi Green at 1:52 PM
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