F to the Uck
Yeah. It's been that kind of day.
As if my mindset weren't negative enough this morning, today was Stupid Clients Crawl Out of the Woodwork Day. Oh, look, it's the douchebag who hired us first to keep him out of jail for violating his 20 year old girlfriend's restraining order against him (he's damn near 40), and then hired us to harrass said girlfriend until she gives his stuff back. Oh, and here's the trucking company whose drivers can't seem to avoid getting load limit tickets--this one is set for hearing tomorrow! In another state! Oh, and looky--here's the lady who stops in once a week or so to bring me every piece of paper every doctor-type hands her, and she can't find one piece of paper in particular and could I look for it and make her a copy?
At least I got to leave early--oh, but wait, I got to leave early because I had to pick up Bob and take him to the shrink's office! Joy! At least this time, we only had to sit in the lobby and wait for 30 minutes! And after upping his mood stabilizer dose, deciding to wean him off the Zoloft, and leaving the Ritalin as-is, she decides to give me the "you have to pay the $500 witness fee because Your Fearless Lawyer agreed to that charge." Oh, did he? Well, then, I'll certainly give him a call. Because if he agreed to it (and neglected to mention anything about it to me), he can fucking pay it.
Then I had to listen to Bob whine and whimper about wanting a goddamn piece of candy because he saw a jar full on the receptionist's desk. No, you can't have any, but you can have a big piece of shut the fuck up! Then I got to stand and wait and wait and wait while The World's Slowest Receptionist charged me $25 for the fun, scheduled another appointment and filled out the stupid little reminder card. And while I waited, Bob was in the lobby, alternately running out the door (into the dark parking lot), running back in, and contemplating pulling the fire alarm. So when we left, I told him "no Happy Meal," as he knew we were getting McDinner and I'd told him it was conditional on his behavior.
Let the fireworks begin!
There's nothing quite as enjoyable as driving through rush hour with a 6 year old tossing a fit in the backseat and whining "I want a Happy Meal!" over and over again. And tossing in the occasional "you get me a Happy Meal or I'll kill you!" And the random "I hate you! You're stupid!" And you can only spend so many minutes telling yourself "remain calm, it's his brain chemistry, not him" before the other part of you tells yourself "fuck his brain chemistry, this is bullshit" and starts screaming "Shut! Your! Mouth! Now!" and then tells the child he's going to get ramen noodles for dinner while YOU eat McDinner and then his ass is going to bed. And then sitting for-ev-er in the drive-through while the kid finally begins to calm down and starts begging for something other than ramen noodles and you consent to a cheeseburger and fries and not a damn thing more, and so help me God if you say "Happy Meal" one more time, you ain't getting squat, you understand?
Then half an hour later you and the child are sitting at the table eating and the child is over his fit entirely and seems to have forgotten it ever happened and you're seething over your chicken mcnuggets and asking yourself, can I really fucking live like this for another 12 to 15 years? Or longer?
And then you decide bedtime will definitely fall a little earlier this evening, because no way can you spend another hour watching him squirm and bounce and flop and wriggle and catapult from one piece of furniture to another. No fucking way.
As if my mindset weren't negative enough this morning, today was Stupid Clients Crawl Out of the Woodwork Day. Oh, look, it's the douchebag who hired us first to keep him out of jail for violating his 20 year old girlfriend's restraining order against him (he's damn near 40), and then hired us to harrass said girlfriend until she gives his stuff back. Oh, and here's the trucking company whose drivers can't seem to avoid getting load limit tickets--this one is set for hearing tomorrow! In another state! Oh, and looky--here's the lady who stops in once a week or so to bring me every piece of paper every doctor-type hands her, and she can't find one piece of paper in particular and could I look for it and make her a copy?
At least I got to leave early--oh, but wait, I got to leave early because I had to pick up Bob and take him to the shrink's office! Joy! At least this time, we only had to sit in the lobby and wait for 30 minutes! And after upping his mood stabilizer dose, deciding to wean him off the Zoloft, and leaving the Ritalin as-is, she decides to give me the "you have to pay the $500 witness fee because Your Fearless Lawyer agreed to that charge." Oh, did he? Well, then, I'll certainly give him a call. Because if he agreed to it (and neglected to mention anything about it to me), he can fucking pay it.
Then I had to listen to Bob whine and whimper about wanting a goddamn piece of candy because he saw a jar full on the receptionist's desk. No, you can't have any, but you can have a big piece of shut the fuck up! Then I got to stand and wait and wait and wait while The World's Slowest Receptionist charged me $25 for the fun, scheduled another appointment and filled out the stupid little reminder card. And while I waited, Bob was in the lobby, alternately running out the door (into the dark parking lot), running back in, and contemplating pulling the fire alarm. So when we left, I told him "no Happy Meal," as he knew we were getting McDinner and I'd told him it was conditional on his behavior.
Let the fireworks begin!
There's nothing quite as enjoyable as driving through rush hour with a 6 year old tossing a fit in the backseat and whining "I want a Happy Meal!" over and over again. And tossing in the occasional "you get me a Happy Meal or I'll kill you!" And the random "I hate you! You're stupid!" And you can only spend so many minutes telling yourself "remain calm, it's his brain chemistry, not him" before the other part of you tells yourself "fuck his brain chemistry, this is bullshit" and starts screaming "Shut! Your! Mouth! Now!" and then tells the child he's going to get ramen noodles for dinner while YOU eat McDinner and then his ass is going to bed. And then sitting for-ev-er in the drive-through while the kid finally begins to calm down and starts begging for something other than ramen noodles and you consent to a cheeseburger and fries and not a damn thing more, and so help me God if you say "Happy Meal" one more time, you ain't getting squat, you understand?
Then half an hour later you and the child are sitting at the table eating and the child is over his fit entirely and seems to have forgotten it ever happened and you're seething over your chicken mcnuggets and asking yourself, can I really fucking live like this for another 12 to 15 years? Or longer?
And then you decide bedtime will definitely fall a little earlier this evening, because no way can you spend another hour watching him squirm and bounce and flop and wriggle and catapult from one piece of furniture to another. No fucking way.
posted by Mitzi Green at 4:38 PM
1 Comments:
Oh, I have sooo had days like this. I have too many of them!
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