Mostly these days I'm just sad. That's it. I'm sad for me and for my sisters and my sweet little fruitcake of a Mama. No getting around it. Even though I've toyed with the idea of asking my old pal whiskey to escort me during this phase, I guess for now I'm just resigned to crawl through it on my hands and knees. Mostly sober.
No wonder I didn't get invited to any New Years Eve throw-downs this year.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Today was supposed to be my first day back to work since Daddy died but it snowed about a foot here and even that wasn't going to stop me because the dude that plows our driveway was supposed to show up at 5:30. But it did stop me because he didn't show up until 10:00. I really hate people sometimes. I'm not the most prompt individual. But if I tell you I'm gonna be somewhere at a certain time, by god I'm gonna be there. I may be ten minutes late. But I'll call you and let you know. It's just dirty and disrespectful and pretty much par for the course. So now I'm sitting here in my pajamas watching another episode of Poirot and drinking watery hot chocolate and calculating how much money I'm knocking off the rent to make up for the fact that I've missed yet another day off from work because of my ass-hat landlord and his ass-hat snow-plowing, unreliable liar of a son-in-law.
Posted by Janet Scronce at 11:48 AM
Saturday, December 25, 2010
I am back home after nearly ten days of non-stop whirlwind action. And not the good kind of Steven Segal action. The really shitty-ass phone call and funeral home and death certificate kind that requires either a lifetime supply of Valium or hourly shots of Southern Comfort. I flew into Boston yesterday afternoon and then had to do some quick Christmas shopping and then we went to Mike and Judy's for some holiday cheer and then back home so that I could torture myself by watching A Christmas Story twice instead of cleaning the house from roof to baseboards. It's not fithy or anything. But it do smell like c-a-t and I want to shove a Renuzit in every electrical socket, including my nostrils. How are you? People ask, and I don't even know what to tell them. Okay. Functioning. Sad. Pissed the hell off. Depressed. Angry. Lonely. Mostly I'm just waiting on my Daddy to call me and wish me a Merry Christmas. Aw, fuck me.
Posted by Janet Scronce at 11:18 AM