As I sit here, stuck, thinking about all the shit that still has to get done and now I’m at least temporary down for the count I am getting slowly more and more pissed off.
It’s not my lupus, or migraines or anxiety or even IBS that has me sitting today out when I was supposed to be a busy little bee getting the first touches on the new deck frame up. It was a fucking nail sticking out of a fucking board that went into my stupid fucking foot.
Excuse my ‘French’ but right now venting out a few F bombs over the internet seems like a better idea than letting them slide in front of Little Dude, the contractors (though I doubt they’d mind) or my father (oh yes he would mind). It also validates the fact that I feel the need to blame something. I’m not going to name names but I managed to do all my work yesterday and clean up after myself well enough to prevent stupid injuries around the yard but then SOMEBODY came home and started leaving gnarly nailed up boards all over the place.
After an accidental anti-feminist comment from him earlier in the day I wasn’t even in the mood to look at him. This little mis-hap wasn’t exactly the way I was planning on winning the ‘girls rule, boys drool’ argument. At the same time though, I managed power tools, sledge hammering, the basis of all good demolition with barely a scratch (ok a few little nicks) and it was his manly moments of procrastination that led to disaster.
I can’t be too harsh on him…. He’s about as sorry as can be without actually grovelling for forgiveness. Not that I placed the blame card on him, at least out loud, but he knows how much his talk earlier hurt and now to ‘conveniently’ put me out of commission for the next couple days construction. If I was dealing with a less kind-hearted man I might think there was some purpose behind keeping the woman inside (in her place…).
On top of not being able to go about as planned, the contractors are getting here any minute to tear up our living room, cut through our flooring and jack hammer the shit out of some random slab of concrete under our house. Which pretty much means I can’t go do anything outside or away but Little Dude and I also can’t stay in and chill. The timing couldn’t have been more rotten.
Oh well, I think making a giant ass fire (to burn the guilty deck boards), a ton of sunscreen and a few hours with Bringing Metal to the Children might cheer me up a tad. That is if Little Dude lets me read more than the same 2 sentences over and over again.
Through hell or high water, the shit that has to get done around here is getting DONE. If only I can get my hands on a pair of crutches. Then I’ll be one badass hobbling but mobile mad woman.