This morning my husband used the last of the milk making himself a chai latte, because although he won't let me dress him like my "handsome, gay friends," he's inclined to enjoy their hot beverages. He also requested that I take our dachshund to get his nails trimmed. So I did, and I grabbed myself a coffee on the way back, and walking in the front door carrying both the dog and the fresh, hot coffee I'd taken 2 sips of, I dropped my cup:
All that to say I'm super crabby right now, and while I recognize the triviality of my complaints, I'm going to let them rip nonetheless.
I'm sick of being mildly sick. I've had some form of 8 different colds since Christmas, so eff you, Santa.
I'm sick of needing 3 remotes to operate 1 television.
I'm tired of losing the stupid twisty thing to the bread bag.
I'm done with this cloudy, shitty weather. Bring the snow, bring the cold, just leave me some sun.
I'm sick of being told to like things on Facebook.
I'm tired of letting Anna watch too much TV because the alternative is suiting her up for 20 minutes to play outside for 5.
I'm done with paying for oil heat and still keeping the thermostat on Almost Barely Comfortable (If Wearing a Windbreaker).
I could not be more sick of loading and unloading the dishwasher
And of picking up little socks and dog poop.
I'm all set with standing next to my car in the cold rain waiting for Anna to buckle up.
I'm annoyed by my lack of motivation
And the 4 stubborn pounds I keep sabotaging myself out of losing.
I'm sick of the crappy movie selection on Netflix streaming.
I hate that my once firmer-than-firm mattress is now a ridge with 2 gullies.
And I don't know why all my t-shirts smell like man shirts.
I'm sure there's more, but I've just had some goodness sent my way in the form of a neighbor who brought me milk, and there's a hot French press at my elbow waiting to be drunk.