Let’s see, caring for Dad has had my blood pressure sky rocket in spikes as he refuses to abide by agreements about his limitations. Mom was in fucking ICU with a stress-induced cardio-myopathy, and is still in rehab for this.
But we’ve been here caring for him day in, day out. You come up and have seen him for a grand total of 96 hours since he had the shunt replaced, and think we’re holding grudges and not paying enough attention to his wants and desires. For that matter when I first ask you if you want him going up and down the stairs in the garage without supervision, you say, “No.” Once I tell you that that was one of the things that lead to my pressure cooker day Tuesday - that he not only went down those stairs without supervision, he did so while I was still in bed, you say, “I don’t think that’s important.”
So you want to move him closer to you. Still in a facility (assisted living) of course. You and your husband are both very busy people, and that’s great. But you’ll probably have time to get in to see him two or three times a week. Which is fine for you, really.
Why the fuck do you want to move him 400 miles from his wife? Who would, otherwise, be visiting him at least daily, and probably more often. Or do you plan to uproot her, too, from her house, her friends and supports?
Fuck you nausea. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. Could you either make me puke or go away?
(Didn’t have a big enough dinner, then ate a whole package of raspberries and some candy. Then went for a drive. Arrrgghh… I’m feeling okay now since I had some milk and a ginger pill, but I’ve still got that horrible sensitive stomach and tight throat feel.)
I think some of them have bought sunglasses, finally. But now I have a different angst…
Jay,
You are I are friends as well as co-workers. I like it that way. Until August I thought you did too, and I was less than thrilled to learn we’d be working as a team because of this. It is NOT okay to call me “Love,” especially within hearing of people we’re supervising this project; I think you’d be thrilled to give people the wrong impression, but I’m not amused. And acting like a jealous boyfriend whenever I talk to Brian is also screwed up; I don’t care if it does bother you that you probably have figured out that I’m attracted to him, and not you. I mean Jesus, deciding to come sit between us - literally between us - during lunch so I had to pay attention to you too instead of just him? Don’t make me strangle you before we shift to a new project on the 7th.
Dear My Hormones (And, By Extension, My Mental State),
You and I have been at odds for many a year now, for a variety of reasons. I try to control you as best as I can, and for the last few months, I was doing a comparatively fantastic job, if I say so myself. Barely cried at all, and when I did it was for decent enough reasons.
Until I started the new drug on Friday, the one with the estrogen in it. Apparently, you perceive the addition of more of your kind to my system as an opportunity to have an emotional free-for-all. Woohoo, feelings of ill-placed confusion, betrayal, and insecurity! Hooray for feeling like my mental control, and by extension the control I had over my life and circumstances, came crashing down! How awesome, realizing my hard-fought battle for control over my anxiety was just a dose away from slipping out of my fingers this entire time when I thought I’d had it won!
Thanks a lot, estrogen. You’re supposed to be strengthening my body and my confidence. You back-stabbing bitch.
If I had a penis with which to aim I would start pissing on the piles of clothing that people leave in the laundry room. If you cannot return around the time your machine is done - AND IT TELLS YOU HOW MANY MINUTES THAT WILL BE YOU TWITS - don’t do laundry right then. Jesus Christ. We’ve got four washers and four driers for about 200 people, have some goddamn courtesy you barely-sentient twinkies.
It’s snowing a little bit here. It is also above zero (32ºF for the metrically-impaired); that means for all intents and purposes for driving, it’s raining. So why, you might ask, are people driving like there is two inches of fresh snow and glare ice on the road? I know I sure was asking that - loudly, and with various spicy words mixed in. For reals, if you cannot drive in snowy conditions (or what you fear might be snowy conditions, and don’t know the difference), go the hell back where you came from. This winter is going to be sheer hell with all these non-winter drivers here (more so than usual, I mean).
Around here, we get the same thing–except that there are other students that throw the finished laundry in a corner, meaning not only does it look like a department store blowout, but there still aren’t any empty laundry machines! AArgh!
Fuck you people who hold checks. I paid my initiation and dues to join an international organization at the beginning of September. Now it’s early November and the check still hasn’t cleared.
Do I have to remember to keep aside this $60.44 until I die??
Fuck you, Czarcasm, for your feeble attempts at voter suppression. Dopers are tired of your failed, divisive politics and are ready to see a board where Wabbit Seasonists and Duck Seasonists can come together in spite of their differences. Where a man is judged by the content of his character, and not his preference of season.
Thank you. That also drives me batshit insane. Hey! we have something important to say! No, I have zero need for your fucking ding/chime. Too bad, you get it anyway.
I’ll be a Ford man as long as they make things that roll, but…
I’d like to wish a hearty Fuck You to the snot excavating dipshits who decided to make my pickup beep and ding at me for every other thing I want it to do. I know the goddam door’s open. I want it open.
And an extra special EAT HOT DEATH to the inbred uncle fuckers who decided that the stinkin buzzer should be installed in a sealed plastic case that also holds the fuse block and several fragile looking circuit boards. Thus making it impossible to remove or even disable. (But at least it buzzes with an nice asthmatic wheeze now…)
And a bonus Slap In The Freakin Head for utterly failing to design an exciting small car BEFORE the bottom fell out. At least I have an excuse for getting blindsided, but you’ve got squads of financial experts on staff. What are you paying those jokers for, anyway? Now fork over a 1.8 L version of your four valve V8 bolted to a twin clutch 7 speed stick shift, mighty fast! And it better have AWD and a 9800 RPM redline or it’s me & you out behind the bike racks after school!
Just take the door panels off and clip the sensor wires. It worked for me.
The inbred uncle fuckers who decided that the stinkin buzzer should be installed in a sealed plastic case that also holds the fuse block and several fragile looking circuit boards deserve to die a slow and painful death.
Would some fuckwit managing genius in this city please explain the goddamn value of having the library closed on Mondays when you CUNTS leave every single motherfucking light in the godforsaken building on, merrily burning away like there’s no such fucking thing as a bill??!
Thx! That’s next. I have to get in there anyway since they also installed an unsealed window switch on a horizontal arm rest. There’s this thing called rain, see. Ahh, never mind. That’s a totally minor sin compared to The Buzzer.
This is one of my pet peeves. What the hell is wrong with people? If there is enough room to easily fit a person in and it’s ambiguous whether or not you are in line, you are NOT in line. You are not some ironic cool hipster, you’re just a fucktard. I’ve adopted the habit of standing uncomfortably close and invading their personal space. Hell, I would not have even asked her if she was in line when she was staring at me, I’d just smile idiotically and keep my place. I’d make her say that she was in line, and then I’d repspond “Well, I had no idea because you were standing so far away from the line.”